A Shangrila Detective Story
by Nikolai Mirovich
Summary: Written in a form that crosses feel of the Naked Gun series with the feel of Film Noir, this is a detective story written in the mush world of Shangrila. Here, Frank Deitrich is highered by a mysterious Grigori woman to find both an ancient scroll, and if


A Shangrila Detective Story 

By

Nikolai Mirovich

Disclaimer, Author's Note, Etc... Okay, this is kinda of a temporary addition to my list of stories on this page. It's not erotica or anything, it's just that I haven't found a better place to put it on line just yet.:( So when I do, I'll move it.

For those who play the game Shangrila, I apologize for a handful of creative twistings of the theme, but I'm sure the humour value will more than make up for it. For those who haven't played the game, don't worry, you don't need to understand the story at all, just relax and enjoy the ride!

Oh, I should also like to thank the handful of players who actually gave permission for me to use their characters, especially Europa and Pucky, both of whom were very amusing and rather supportive in their own ways. I should also mention that the characters Donna, Rachael and Connell are NOT in any way based off characters on Shangrila, they're just NPC's.

Chapter 1

It still seems funny, days like these. Rainy I mean. And not that warm summer's rain stuff, either. I'm talkin' about that cold, dreary grey drizzle that that seems to like ta hang out outside my window every Monday mornin' like a girl from the Jenny's Guild who didn't quite make the cut and found herself out here on the Westside 'cause no one wanted her over at Temple Hill. I say it's funny, 'cause Shangrila ain't exactly a regular kinda town. Infact, you could call it a world in of itself. Because it is. It's basically a pocket dimension created a little over a hundred and fifty years ago by some crazy philosopher.

Dr. Laurent Sorbonne or somethin' like that. The story goes that he wanted to make some kinda perfect world. His own little Utopia, free of what he saw as societies evils or some such nonsense. Didn't work out to well, though, seein' as his followers basically run the place now, and the old man took off to try again. Last I heard his second attempt didn't do much better. But either way, it still seems kinda odd to me that a so-called "perfect world" would have rain. Cold, oppressive, life-sucking rain on a Monday morning. Heck, it still surprises me that Shangrila even HAS Monday mornings.

Anyway, so there I was sittin' at my desk in my office, starin' out the window, idly watchin' the dire-badger from next door rootin' through the trash bins again, when there was a knock at the my door. I quickly put down my mug of by now icy cold coffee and tried to look busy, clicking my computer off its screensaver and makin' the message that "the Computer Is My Friend" vanish once more to reveal my current case load. Which was nothin', I might add. Just like it'd been for a week now.

"Door's open, enter 'n' be welcome!" I called, makin' sure to cover all the bases. I'd had a few clients since I got here who'd had problems with enterin' abodes uninvited.

The door opened, and as the clich‚ goes, she walked in. Now, I don't mind sayin' that she was a real angel. That's because was she was. Grigori judging by her height. They just ain't comfortable in body that's not pushin' at least six-feet last I checked. Anyway, as I said, she was an angel; great big huge ethereal wings, glowing silvery halo, the whole nine yards save the flamin' sword that she'd checked with security on the way up. Although the wings did kinda clash with the dark grey trench coat she had on, her round black sunglasses made for a strangely adequate disguise.

"Are you Detective Dietrich?" the woman inquired, glancing about the room somewhat nervously. And yeah, her voice was like choir and all that. It even blessed the water in my fish tank. Good thing too, as a year later I had a bit of a tussle with one of her fallen brethren and had to ram his head through the glass.

I leaned back in my chair and tipped the hat I wasn't actually wearing to the lady, givin' her a bit of a smile. "If I ain't, Frank's gonna be a might peeved when he sees me sittin' in his chair," I replied, trying to take the tension out of the air. It wasn't good for the potted plant I had on the window sill that I later found out was a responsible for the murders down in the Enclave, but that's another story.

The woman, cause that's what she looked like really, of course here in the City of Dreams, ya can never be quite sure, gave me a weak smile and sat down in one of the old beat up chairs I keep in front of my desk. They're pretty good for standin' on to change the overhead light, but I can't really suggest sittin' in 'em myself. "I, I understand that you're good at taking care of problems discretely," the angel said carefully, her voice changing slightly as she consciously slipped out of Dreamspeak, the language that everyone who comes to Shangrila instinctively knows, to Spanish, a language I'd picked up while still on the force back home, and wasn't spoken overly much in this City.

I nodded and took another sip of my coffee. Wincing, I set it down and gave her a curious look. "This wouldn't happen to be one of them problems that the City Watch's not to keen on solvin' is it?" I inquired suspiciously. I'd applied there once, up at the Council Mansion downtown, but as it turned out, I had a liability that the cops here in Shangrila generally don't. I call it a conscience.

Ms. Grigori nodded, a distracting tangle of silky midnight escaping from beneath the burgundy scarf she wore over her head as part of her disguise. She was glancing, distractedly at my diploma from the Ontario Police College where I'd hung it in on the wall to cover the hole that looked into the next office. Not that I had a problem with my neighbour's "Adopt A Cephalopod" program, but sometimes the girls would get a little noisy towards the end.

"It's about a friend of mine," the angel continued; frowning a little as the ceiling shook again, plaster falling as it always did. I made a mental note to complain to the landlord about the anthro-rhinoceros upstairs' habit of break-dancing first thing in the mornin'. "He vanished the other day after trying to help me with a little problem I'm having. Not to put too fine a point on it, Detective, but I'd like you to find him for me. Or at the very least, the item I gave him."

I couldn't help but sigh heavily. Of the thousand some odd people who came to the City of Dreams every week, at least half of them would vanish into thin air a day later. Although that bothered me, the City Watch generally ignored it, and even had some kinda holographic display that kept a running total of the City's disappearances as some kinda running gag. Yeah, like I said, there's a reason I'm a private investigator.

"Might I ask what that item might be, miss? If that ain't too personal a question, that is," I asked with a bit of a grin, trying not to sound too overly interested, I've noticed that's bad for business. That and I kinda needed to distract myself from staring down at her crossed legs. It just didn't seem right to ogle a higher being and all.

The angel shook her head, and I almost chuckled to myself as I finally made her smile. It was nice the way it lit up the room, seein' as the overhead light had gone dim again from the Mages Guild drawin' on the City's power grid for some dark ritual again for the third time that week. "No, not at all," she said softly, and I got the feelin' that this was one of those woman you didn't want to hear raise her voice. Especially not after Dogma was on the late show last night, "It was a Scroll, actually. Extremely ancient, but quite durable, I can assure you. Without going into details, I can say that I needed that Scroll to be taken from this realm and brought to another world, but I'm afraid that my friend vanished shortly after I sent him on his task."

Well, at least now I was certain she wasn't a Cherubim. Guardian Angels took the loss of their wards a lot more seriously. Sorta explained why the Sandy Hills Asylum was open twenty-four hours, actually. "So, if I can't find your friend, find your Scroll then?" my question was partially rhetorical as I glanced at my computer and hit a hotkey to bring up a blank text file before tapping in some notes one handed. "Do you know if he'd managed to book passage out or not before he vanished?" I inquired, my brain finally waking up enough to do my job properly, "It's possible that he got out'a Dodge and that's why he's 'missing'."

The woman shook her head again, this time more forcefully; causing the foot-long roach I kept bugging to pay his half of the rent to keel over dead from the scent of the enchanted perfume the angel was wearing as he crawled up onto my desk. "No, I can still sense the Scroll's presence here in Shangrila," the woman corrected, frowning at the new stain on my desk distastefully before snapping her long fingers, instantly causing the mess to sublimate and all but vanish, "What I can't do, however, is find it."

"Well," I said, sitting up straight and stretching a bit, pleased to see that the roach had landed in my rubbish bin at least, "There's only one way out of town, and that's through the Portal. Any idea which Guild he was booking passage with?"

The angel sighed and shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid I had to ask him to keep the details of his passage a secret. But with the money I gave him, he could've been smuggled out any number of ways, even without going through one of the wretched Guilds." I couldn't fault her the shudder her statuesque form gave. The Merchants were greedy and the Slavers were power mad. They unfortunately were also the only ones who had an import/export contract with the Temple of Oblivion. And since the Temple owned the Portal, much to the chargin of the Mages Guild, it sorta limited one's escape options. Fortunately, though, it gave me a place to start.

"Alright then, can I get a description of your friend? A name wouldn't hurt either."

"His name is Kareem Bensawa," the angel replied, taking a deep breath, her dark glasses only partially hiding her growing distress. Yeah, it was obvious, she cared for guy, "He was one of the Serpent People he-"

"Naga, Yuan'ti or Fenalyn?" I interrupted, making a few notations before looking up the names of the handful of people I knew of in the respective communities.

"Naga," she replied, bowing her head and taking a deep breath, her halo tilting sadly to one side, "He was an archaeologist. Spent most of his time in the Badlands. That's where he finally found the Scroll. His human form was somewhat unassuming. Five ten, Middle Eastern, slight accent, very friendly. Even the Rat-Kin liked him."

I thought better of asking and nodded. "Alright," I said enthusiastically, habitually dusting my hands off as I turned in my chair and got up to grab my fedora and trench coat, "I think I have enough here, Miss.?"

The angel smiled, the voyeuristic vampire living across the street screaming and bursting into flames. "Rachael," she said softly, offering me her hand.

I hesitated for a moment, remembering what happened that time I shook hands with that Egyptian mummy, but decided to take a chance. Her skin was cool and soft, but I didn't feel like taking a long nap afterwards. "Frank," I replied, tipping my hat to her, "Nice ta meet'cha!"

For a moment, I could've sworn she'd blushed, but it might just have been my ego playing tricks on me again. Grabbing up my coffee, I gave it another swig, letting the raw caffeine energize me for the coming task. "Did you want me to warm that for you, Detective?" Rachael asked, and I couldn't help but grin as I shook my head and replied with a chuckle, "Naw, that's okay ma'am. I like my coffee like I like my women. Cold and bitter!"

Chapter 2

There's all sorts of sayings about the "lesser" of two evils, and the City of Dreams is no exception. My favourite, though, has always been "Why settle for the lesser of two evils? Vote Cthulhu!". I dunno, maybe that had something to do with my decision to drop by the Slaver's Guild later that morning. Or maybe it was just that I wanted to get it out of the way first. I think deep down I actually hoped that this Kareem guy hadn't booked passage with them. And really, it didn't seem too likely that he would've. After all, the Slavers were in the business of bringing people in to, not out of Shangrila.

Regretting not having just driven the handful of blocks down to the Slaver's Guild as the rain picked up, falling in what seemed more like buckets than drops, I was almost thankful, for the tall spindly shard of a building that towered over much of the Business Districts skyline. Holding the collar of my coat up against the rain that had suddenly learned to fall left; I was up the steps and through the pretentious gold trimmed doors a second before the hail started.

Now, bursting in through the front doors of Shangrila's largest, way overly paranoid, and inarguably most powerful Guild is a bad idea on a good day. This, unfortunately, wasn't a good day. Having endured a few persistent attacks from the latest underground anti-slavery organization (It's hard to say which one it was. New ones crop up every few weeks and tend to go down fairly quickly), the two burly men in red at the door weren't too pleased with my sudden intrusion.

Before I could take a second step, each of the twin goons (Prolly grown in vats somewhere)each grabbed one of my arms and hoisted me about a foot off the ground, causing me to be the center of the somewhat crowded lobby's attention as my trench coat dripped about a water fall's worth of water down onto their polished white marble floor. My luck hadn't entirely run out, however, as just as they were about see which one could punch through the side of my head the fastest, who should walk into the lobby by the man himself.

The Grand Master of the Slaver's Guild wasn't exactly an imposing sort. He wasn't the tall, barrel-chested playboy type who walked around all the time wearing leather pants and no shirt. To me, he seemed a lot more like the arch-typical evil German doctor from a dozen or so old black and white movies they used to have at the Invisible Cinema back home. So I guess it was a pretty good idea for old Artifex not to go around shirtless, let alone where leather pants.

He paused a moment as he came out of the elevator, a clip board in hand, his small round glasses perched on the end of his long nose, his mouth open, about to chastise one of his employees, but instead stopping to stare at my predicament for a moment that went on almost too long for comfort.

"Ahh, Detective Dietrich," chuckled Artifex, handing off his clipboard to a lackey before clamping his hands together melodramatically, something about his accent making me think more Eastern European than German in his case, "So nice of you to drop by, but I'm afraid you seem to have confused the Guild proper with our ever popular Processing Center. Perhaps you'd like my men to push you in the right direction?"

"Naw, that'll be alright," I assured him without really skipping a beat, even managing to shrug a little as Guido and Nunzio stood like statues on either side of me, each of them grinning in anticipation of at the very least throwing me out of my butt, "I actually came here looking to talk to you. Just a few polite questions, nothin' major."

Artifex raised one of his pale eyebrows, and I could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes. "I doubt there are many questions you would want to ask of me, that I would want to answer, Detective," the old man replied dismissively, waving one of his ancient hands as a signal to the twins who dropped me back down onto my feet, "Even the City Watch does not come to the Guild with questions. Especially not with personal ones we don't like to answer. I've told you before, the Prince supports our operations here and-"

"No, no, not that!" I laughed as casually as I could, adjusting my lapels and smoothing back my wet hair despite the fact that it'd be back to its normally unkempt state a few minutes later anyway, "I was just lookin' for some information about a friend. He might have gone with one of your 'caravans' recently."

The old man smirked. "Gone out with? Or came in with?" Artifex inquired with a toothy grin I once saw on the were-shark bouncer at Whisky Junction before he got into a fight with some huge guy with claws wearing a funny yellow suit, "If you'd like, I can give you a small discount, seeing as it's a 'friend' of yours."

I smirked, making sure to keep my mood light. "Naw, I ain't looking to buy or rent any slaves, sir. I just want to know if a specific man booked passage out with you guys recently."

Artifex shrugged dismissively. "What makes you think I'd even care?" the ancient artificer turned Slaver inquired, becoming more and more bored with the game by the moment, "If he wasn't registered with the Guild, he really wasn't our problem. Furthermore, we're not in the business of helping people leave Shangrila. You know that, Detective, I shouldn't have to repeat it."

I just shrugged, letting him rant a bit before interrupting. "Well, if you don't mind me asking, when did the last caravan head out? Maybe he got caught trying to hitch a ride?" My logic wasn't the best, but at least it made the old man smile again. Even if it was more of a malicious grin, "You guys didn't happen to catch any strange snakes, did ya?"

"I can assure you, Detective, we haven't had much of a trade in serpent people as of late," and here old Arti' chuckled in a way that made me think of dried up old bones rattling around in a tin can, "but if we found one, you'd hear about it. A trained slave of that nature would fetch a very high price, and far be it for me to deny the general public a chance to see such a creature in captivity."

I gave him a bit of a grim smile and nodded thoughtfully. It was better than saying, "Yeah, and you'd love the free advertising and publicity." I dunno, I think I preferred it when Artifex was just a dirty old man running an occult shop in the Underground. "Alright, then," I conceded, "Ya made yer point. I've a few other leads, but if ya hear anything give me a shout, okay?"

Artifex made no effort to hide his amusement as I turned to leave, but just as I pushed one of the doors open, the cold rain and hail quickly stealing away what little warmth I'd managed to acquire, the old man stopped me. "Oh, one thing Detective," I half turned to face the smiling alchemist, "There IS someone who could possibly help you. But he's not really in much of a state to answer any but the most basic of questions."

"Really," I responded, not wanting to appear to over eager, despite my plot-sense tingling. Of course, it might just have been that the rain had finally soaked through my pants.

Artifex nodded, chuckling to himself as he linked and unlinked his long, bony fingers ominously. "Yes, if you find the time, head up to the Processing Center. There's a Slave there by the name of Jean-Marc Lavoie. Who knows, maybe you can set him straight again? Perhaps his. Experience even had something to do with the man you're looking for."

"Any particular reason you think that?" I asked noncommittally, knowing better than to make any promises to a Slaver. Particularly the head honcho.

"Oh, just that he seems to have developed a rather acute case of ohidiophobia." The old man seemed to find that amusing, and I almost ignored the lead entirely, thinking that Artifex was just playing with me. But I guess my plot sense was just working overtime that day.

"Eh, thanks for your help," I told him without need of a proper dismissal, and headed back out into the craptastic weather once more.

Chapter 3

I remember back home in grade ten English class when we had to do some Shakespeare play or other. Our teacher pointed out some line or other that said somethin' about a storm being a living thing. She called it a "pathetic fallacy", I think. Now, at the risk of sounding pathetic, or maybe just phalletic. (Is that even a word?) I'm pretty sure this storm we were having was ticked off about somethin'. And at the time, I was half sure it was something that I did.

Coming up the street and taking the east road around Xanadu, I was only partially surprised to see the gate-like metal double doors of the Processing Center closed. Ducking under the overhanging roof of the low, almost squat building, I couldn't help but give an involuntary shudder. I'd been hoping to avoid this place, and I think old Arti knew that. It didn't help that I didn't make much of a secret of my disapproval of what his Guild did for a living, so I guess I shouldn't've been surprised.

I waited a few more minutes, watching the rain and the jagged chunks of hail, shaking my head at the other crazy people who insisted on being out in it for one reason or another, (many of who were even clothed!) and figured I might as well go in as young couple ventured out of the building, a twelve-foot minotaur who had trouble walking in tow.

I doubt they even noticed me as I slipped inside, making sure not to make any aggressive movements as I then took off my hat and wrung it out onto the grey marble floor, giving the annoyed looking guard a wide grin. "Ya all wouldn't have a slave here by the name of Jean-Marc Lavoie, would ya?" I inquired in as friendly-like a tone as I could muster, doing my best to ignore the distant sounds of screaming from deeper in the complex.

The guard grunted and pointed towards the information desk. Not that I expected much more from him, as Slaver Guards were usually paid to be imposing warm bodies more than tour guides. Nonetheless, I went up to the counter and flipped idly through the catalogue as I waited for Amelia. The small, unimposing woman had been working in the Center since it was formed, and most people weren't even sure how she fit into the hierarchy of the Guild. She was always polite and courteous, but what the little lady wasn't was the sort to not show up for work.

Glancing up once again as I found Lavoie's name in the ledger, I caught the attention of the guard again, deciding I really didn't want to deal with the pack of cat-girls who'd come running down the stairs a moment before and seemed to be arguing about who's turn it was to clean the pens.

"Say, uh, where's Amelia these days?" my question rewarded me with a shrug, but it was then that someone who looked like he might be in charge finally came out of management office.

He looked a little like butler to me in his dark suit, absolutely perfect pale yellow hair, and wire-rimmed glasses that he pushed back up his nose with his middle finger. Ignoring what may just have been a subtle insult, I tipped my hat to him and leaned against the counter before addressing the suddenly expectant looking slaver.

"Sorry ta bug ya'all so early in the mornin' but Artifex sent me over here to have a talk with one of your slaves."

The man frowned, and I somehow doubted he'd smiled even once in his life. "Yes, we received a call earlier," even his voice was staunchly rigid. I started to wonder if some pickle-wielding slave had turned the tables on him recently, "If you'll accompany me, Detective, I'll take you down to Jean-Marc's pen."

Deciding that he kinda reminded me of an Owen, I decided to mentally call him that, and followed the wannabe butler though another door and was taken down a dark stairwell into what might as well have been the 9th plane of Bator. Or maybe just the 4th level of Club Inferno.

As Owen lead me down an equally dark corridor, lit by flickering, noisy florescent bulbs, past sealed metal doors that all looked the same to me, hidden speakers droned on and on, filling the air with a frightfully catchy bit of elevator music that reminded me momentarily of just what it was the word "banal" meant. Over the music, I could hear a near constant cacophony (I'm rather fond of that word, actually) of whimpering, screaming and everything in between. This was accented mainly by the sounds of strange machinery, cracking whips, and of course insane laughter. I could only imagine what Shady Hills Asylum was like in comparison, and was thankful I didn't have to go there that day.

Owen's path eventually lead me down another hall and down another flight of stairs before he finally stopped in front of one of the doors and took out a huge iron ring filled with keys. Without a word, the man unlocked the door and pulled it open. Inside it was dark and cramped. I could hear a quiet gibbering over the other omnipresent sounds, and the smell inside was like someone had set off a bomb in an outhouse. Not that I've ever done that, mind you. Well, okay, maybe once.

Without seeming to mind the stink, or even the lack of light for that matter, Owen walked inside and did something I couldn't quite make out that caused whoever was inside to start screaming and begging in French. Somethin' about snakes was all I could make out, and I could tell this guy was pretty far-gone. I began to doubt I'd get much more out of him than Artifex's goons had, but I had to take the chance. Otherwise the old man'd feel he'd gotten one over on me, and the last thing I wanted to do was make the Slavers Guild feel good about themselves.

"I'll take him to Processing Room A," said Owen, his monotone making me wonder if he was a robot, or just a wannabe, but I nodded and followed, giving the slave the once over as he put up a token struggle, being dragged by the upper arm by tall, blond and starched.

He seemed to be a man in his mid-thirties, and thanks to Shangrila's tendency of making people who came to it immortal, I dare say he'd always be. The prison grays he was dressed in were ripped, torn and stained in various places; most of his wounds looking self-inflicted, and he seemed to be ignoring whatever passed for meals in this place judging from his expression. That or the skeletal-look was in fashion again on whatever world he'd been taken from.

Thankfully, Processing Room A was back up a level or two. I'd lost track of the path we took, and I wasn't looking forward to closing my eyes that night after passing a few open doorways, but the sooner I was done with the interview, the sooner I could get out a there.

Jean-Marc sat huddled in the room's only chair, placed and bolted to the floor directly under a swinging overhead light that made the corners of the room dark and shadowy. Half wondering if the Hound of Tindalos was afraid of the dark, I took out my notepad, making a few observations as Owen stood in the background, barely moving a muscle the entire time.

"So, Mr. Lavoie. Can I call you Jean?" my French was a little rusty, but not so bad, and the shaking, shuddering man who couldn't seem to unbend his arms and legs looked up at me with dark eyes the size of dinner plates. Not receiving an answer, I continued. "Now, I understand you had a run in with something. Can you tell me what you remember about that at all?"

Jean-Marc closed his eyes his frail body shaking all the more. "S-  
snakes!" he gasped, sweating profusely and prolly would've soiled himself if he'd eaten that day, "Everywhere! The alley! Oh, the alley! Everywhere! Black snakes!"

I frowned at this, checking my mental notations about naga with what I had scribbled down in my notebook. Naga were generally bright green in colour, nature's way of sayin' "I'm frickin' poisonous! Take off 'eh!" The other part was easy. An alley. THE Alley was my guess, seeing as the City of Dreams only had one. It was another lead, that was certain, but I wanted to exhaust the others before pursuing it. The slave was a wacko after all.

"What did these, err, snakes do, sir?" I inquired, running through possible scenarios, "Could you tell if they were venomous or constrictors?"

The Frenchman shook his head violently and nearly fell out of his chair. He was frothing at the mouth, and I half wondered if he was crazy or just rabid. "No! No mouth! No mouth!"

I sighed heavily and shook my head, scratching out the part about snakes and realizing this prolly was a dead-end after all. Shangrila had its fair share of tentacled horrors, and that's prolly what it was in the Alley. On a whim I asked, "Did you see anything besides the err, snakes? A creature of any kind?"

Jean-Marc's eyes went all the wider. "It- It was. To horrible to describe!" he yelled, and I took a moment to take out my earplugs as he started screaming and wailing before Owen rushed over and gave him a slap across the face, just hard enough to startle him back into lucidity. It didn't work until the third try.

"Okay," I began again, feeling sorry for the poor guy, and feelin' curious about the whole mess irregardless of whether it had anything to do with my current case. Ya never know when something like this'll come back to bite you after all, "This, this thing. Was it bigger that you? Or about the size of a man?"

The slave shook his head, trying to bash it against something I suspect. "Big! Bigger!" he cried, but Jean-Marc had long since lost the last of his tears.

Nodding, I continued. "Was it a blob thing? Maybe some geometric shape, perhaps? Round"  
"Yes! Yes, round! Yes! Oh! Oh it was indescribably horrible!"

I almost had to ask Own to slap him again, but Jean-Marc calmed down, muttering quietly to himself as I went and got him a drink. Holding it to his lips a moment later, I asked, "Okay. Did it have eyes at all?"

The man coughed a little, slopping water down his front and nodded slowly, his gaze distant. "Okay, multiple? Or just a few?"

"No! No! No!" the Frenchman screamed at me, suddenly annoyed and I quickly hazarded another guess.

"Just one?"

Jean-Marc started screaming again, and I wondered how long it'd be before he lost his voice. "Yes! Oh merciful creator! Just one! One horrible, terrible eye it had! Oh the horror! It was indescribable I tell you!"

I frowned thoughtfully, scribbled down a few notes, beging a rough sketch. "Humanoid? Cat-like? Canine? Bovine? Reptilian-?"

I took his screaming as an affirmative and adjusted my profile. The reptilian eye plus the tentacles certainly explained where he'd gotten snakes from.

"And you say it had no mouth?"

"No! No mouth! Horrible! The indescribable horror! Snakes! That terrible eye!"

I breathed a heavy sigh, making a few last minute notations before finishing off my sketch. "Okay, Mr. Lavoie," I continued once he'd calmed down again, "So, what you saw in the that day was an 'indescribable creature' that had a black spherical body with no mouth, one large reptilian eye, and lots of tentacles, right? Any idea how many it had?"

"So- So many! Oh, I can't begin to describe the beast!"

Rolling my eyes I counted. "Two? Four? Six? Eight-?"

"Eight! Yes, eight! Oh! The horror! The indescribable horror!"

"Okay, so it had eight tentacles, eh?" I added a few extra tentacles to my little sketch drawing of the "monster" and decided I could hear Lovecraft rolling in his grave. The thought made me smile. "Alright, Jean. Is this the creature you saw in the Alley?"

Holding up the small picture to the man, I guess I really shouldn't've been terribly surprise to hear him scream again, but this time, before myself or Owen could react, Jean-Marc Lavoi got up and ran to small curtained window I hadn't noticed in the shadows. The Frenchman didn't even bother to open the heavy black curtains before leaping through the window, screaming madly as he defenestrated himself. Not that I was terribly worried, though, or anything. We were only on the first floor after all.

Chapter 4

The rain had gotten harder as I arrived at the elaborately designed black iron gates that guarded the grounds of the Merchant's Guild two hours later. Wishing I'd driven over instead of walking, except that the parking fees were murder, I stood before them and waited several long seconds for the automatic mechanism to catch on that I wanted in. The rain almost drowning out the sounds of metal on metal scraping together, I watched as the Winged Pegasus symbol between them parted slowly, waiting for just enough of an opening before turning sideways and slipping through.

Holding my hat in place, I hurried up the white marble flagstone path, the colourful flower gardens to either side muted by the dull grey of the rain as I ran by, ignoring the various paths that lead to other areas of the estate's grounds. Going around an elaborate fountain where a fishtailed Winged Pegasus squirted water redundantly into the sky, I spotted the enormous Grecian styled building in the distance, it's row of eight six-foot wide pillars making for inviting shelter from the rain that'd managed to soak through the allegedly guaranteed waterproof coat I'd picked up on sale at Obsessions.

Hurrying as fast as I could, the rain picking up and getting so hard I could barely see a meter ahead of me, I wasn't surprised to find myself alone when I finally raced up the short flight of white marble steps and jumped up onto the front veranda that could've comfortably housed a family of thirty. Taking off my fedora, I twisted it back and forth as I stood in the center of the floor mural, the winged Pegasus beneath my feet not seeming to mind the sudden splatter of cold water as the ginormously huge steel doors of the Merchant's Guild slowly began to swing open before me.

Grinning and giving a nod to the well-groomed man in the butler suit, I replaced my hat and closed the distance between us, the warmth and light emanating from within the mansion a might more inviting that the icy chill of the day.

"G'day, I'd like to speak with someone in charge of, um, exportation, I guess."

The butler raised a single dark eyebrow, lifting his chin slightly so that the light off the mammoth crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling behind him glinted off his metal slave collar. "Do you have an appointment, sir?" he inquired boredly as he stepped backwards to allow me entry anyway.

"Naw, 'course not," I chuckled, slipping off my trench coat long enough to give it a good snapping shake to take the water off of it, "But I am here on business, if that helps. Say, the big guy himself wouldn't be in would he? He's prolly the man I want to talk to anyway."

The slave cringed ever so slightly as water splattered across an antique oil painting of the Azure Gate Bridge beside me as well as the colourful mosaic floor. "May I ask your name?" he managed.

"Detective Dietrich," I replied offhandedly, stepping past him into the so-called grand foyer, my gaze turned upwards at the elaborate decadence that I'm fairly certain doesn't even come close to ritziness of Prince Alexandre's smallest bathroom, "Merchant number seven four two. I just need to ask him some questions, nothin' major."

The unpaid butler sighed heavily and nodded before straightening up and heading for the curved staircase, it's plush carpeting covering all sound of his passage as I took a seat in the throne of some long forgotten Babylonian King and took in the room. Staring up at the domed ceiling, I watched the rain fall against the six sections of thick glass between the curving stone wedges and wondered idly just what it was the Merchant's were overcompensating for.

As a door opened above me, I dropped my gaze momentarily to the huge solid gold sculpture of yet another winged Pegasi. "Here we go," I muttered quietly to it as I got to my feet and turned my attention to the landing at the top of the curved staircases.

"Mr. Marcone will see you now," the butler said with a hint of mild surprise in his voice, but seeing how quiet the Guild was that day, it wasn't all that surprising. The guy was prolly bored out of his gold plated tree.

"Alright, be there in a sec," I assured off-handedly, giving one last glance about the room as I made for the stares, chuckling softly as a veritable army of people scurried out of one of the many doors to clean the room as I left it.

"Right this way, sir," my guide insisted, holding open the dark wooden door for me, his tone seeming nervous and a bit confused.

"You're new at this, ain't ya?" I inquired not unsympathetically as our eyes met at the top of the stairs and the man nodded slowly, "Eh, don't worry 'bout it. There's people here who've got it way worse. Just keep your head down and keep yer eyes open. You're bound to find an opportunity sooner or later."

The slave nodded slowly, and I was pleased to see the wheels turning behind his not yet dull eyes. There wasn't much I could do about Shangrila's broken class system, but at least I could treat everyone I met pretty much the same. Anything else and I was likely to have half the City after me.

Heading down the long hallway, I soon found the dark mahogany door with the gold nameplate that read, "Mercer Marcone, Magistrate." Pausing, before just flinging the door open, I decided it might be a better idea to knock. Now, I'm not saying that the Merchants could crush any small businessman like a bug or anything. I mean, they can, but I'm still not sayin' that. So, I knocked.

"Enter!" came the single word reply, and I took the offer without hesitation.

The office I then stepped into made the foyer look a little like my office. For instance, I'm fairly sure that the Oriental rug on the floor was imported directly from ancient China via the Portal, and the statue of Venus in the corner still had her arms, but it was the three identical Mona Lisa's on the wall, each from an alternate Earth that almost made me take pause.

"Ah, Detective Dietrich," came the ever so slightly condescending, lightly accented with Italian voice of Mercer as he sat behind the extremely large cherry wood desk at the opposite end of the room that could've held a half-way decent mini-put course, "I am of the understanding that you're here about a little. 'Exportation' problem?"

Chuckling as I shook my head I stepped across the elaborate rug, the water from my shoes magically evaporating as I went. "Well, not a problem, really," I said with a grin as the Merchant slid a folder off the top of a pile of them he had on his desk, the man not much for computer's, I guess, "More like an anomaly, I suppose."

"Oh?" the man inquired with vague interest as I noticed that the name on the file was mine, Mercer doin' nothing' to hide the fact.

"Yeah, seems a friend of mine was tryin' to leave town the other day, but he didn't quite make it," I explained, keeping my tone light as Mercer flipped through the various pages of my financial records, "And I was just wonderin' if he might've stopped by to talk to you about it."

Mercer shrugged. "Well, hypothetically speaking, Detective, if someone were to try and leave on one of my caravans such a journey would be extremely expensive," he replied boredly, "Somewhere in the neighbourhood of several dozen Platinum Imperials at least." Settin' the folder down carefully and rather neatly, the Merchant then leaned across his desk towards me, his chin resting upon linked fingers, Mercer's tone becoming all too deadly serious. "However, Detective, if such a hypothetical matter were to occur, it would not be any concern of yours. Unless, of course, you've managed to finagle your way onto the Watch? Of course, even then I'd be under no obligation to discuss this matter with you, hypothetically speaking of course, unless the investigation had been requested by a very high ranking Master or Mistress."

Sighing heavily dug into my pocket before taking a seat in one of the wing-backed chairs in front of the Merchant's desk. "Well, as I understand it, there are no less than five High-Priestesses who are very interested in knowing a bit more about this hypothetical situation," I replied, placing five Gold Crowns down between us.  
Mercer smirked and nodded, the coins vanishing beneath a second folder. "Well, Detective, were I to keep detailed records of such things, a name would be required."

"Kareem Bensawa," I replied with a chuckle, watching as Mercer scanned the short list of those who'd exported shipments of human cargo in the last few months, "He's a Naga if that helps."

The Merchant sighed heavily, shaking his head slowly as he closed the folder. "No, I'm sorry, Detective," Mercer replied with a smile that wasn't especially sincere, the money on his desk mysteriously vanishing as he tucked the folder away in the pile, "Hypothetically speaking, there's no one by that name, or even species on my list. I guess the Naga really are as tight fisted as people say they are, after all. Now then," and here he turned back to my folder for a moment, "I've noticed here that you're a month behind in your payment, Mr. Dietrich. Is there a reason for that?"

Mercer caught my eye for a long, quiet moment and I sighed heavily as I dug out the last of my coinage. "Uh, yeah, sorry 'bout that," I replied, managing to keep the edge from my tone. I mean, I'm not sayin' that the Merchant's Guild runs a protection racket or anything. I mean they are! But I'm just not sayin' it, "I had this crazy idea about eating this month. Silly me!"

The dark suited Italian smirked up at me as I then stood. "Then our business is at an end, Detective," Mercer replied, seemingly pleased, "Please, have a good day."

"Oh sure, put the pressure on me!" I muttered around my wide grin and through my clenched teeth. "You too, sir!" I replied with a nod before leaving Mercer's office, the Merchant already going back to his books, more than likely finding new ways to get blood from stones.

Nearing the front door a short time later, I spotted the butler again, the man standing by the door, his hands behind his back, glancing about nervously. Taking a quick look about myself, I caught a tiny bit of reflected light off the eyes of the winged Pegasus. It didn't look quite right, and I had half a mind about why that was. Turning back to the butler, I nodded as though I was just passing by, but the look I gave him was questioning.

Pretending to be just opening the door for me, the slave handed me a folder, my body shielding him from the camera in the statue's eye, and I gave him a sincere smile. "Thank ya, kindly!" I told him, glad to be at least potentially getting my money's worth out of the Guild for once, "See ya round!"

Tucking the folder under my coat, I then headed out into the rain once more and sprinted once again across the rain soaked marble to the once more opening gates. My luck seeming to take an upturn, a courier van was pulling into the driveway as I was leaving, saving me a few precious seconds of down-pour-time.

Back out on the street, I crossed the road and ducked into the first place I could find. It turned out to be Shangrila Downs, the City of Dreams' only racetrack. Slipping through the light crowd of compulsive gamblers, I went into the unisex washroom before taking out the folder and giving it a quick scan. What I saw surprised me just a little.

Not only had the owners of the Downs installed baby-changing facilities, but it also seemed that the Merchants had recently imported quite an interesting list of ritual components. Ranging from a suspicious load of five fifty-pound crates of dark-metal to a copious amount of eye of newt and some engraving tools, it sounded to me like some mage was working on one heck of a home improvement project.

Another hint of a suspicion forming in the back of my mind, I checked the name of the purchaser, but it'd been listed as anonymous, with the items having been picked up by an unnamed private courier. It wasn't much of a lead, and I didn't like where it lead. Still, I had another stop or two to make, and a few more suspicions to confirm before the day was out.

Chapter 5

It'd somehow remembered to stop raining by the time I'd gotten myself down to Temple Hill that afternoon, and I wasn't surprised to see that most of the travellers I passed along the way weren't actually wet. But then, that's the funny thing about the rain in Shangrila, it either avoids you completely, or follows you around like some kinda curse.

Without giving it much thought, I headed South down through the high reaching ebony stone archway that lead into what'd be the church yard if the Temple of Oblivion could be called anything as innocuous as a church. When I'd first heard about it, I thought it was a bunch of religious fatalists sacrificing vagrants to that there Portal they're so proud of. Later, I heard their 'faith' was more like some madman's version of a fertility cult. Now, though, I know it's bit a both!

Ignoring the sky scraping stone obelisks that littered the yard like rejects from 2010, I headed up to the main building. Like everything else in Shangrila, it seemed to be overcompensating. The black stone cathedral sat atop a fair sized hill, with wide grey stone steps leading up to a set of double doors carved of petrified wood and nearly twice my height. As usual, they stood open like the maw of some great beast, and I couldn't help but wonder how anyone could take this place seriously.

Unchallenged at the door, I avoided looking to closely at either the statues in their alcoves along the walls, or the pictures in the stain glass windows, some were kinda interesting, I can't deny that, but most of them made me want to wash my eyes out with battery acid. Taking a quick look around, I at first figured it was just a slow day. The only other people there were the two torpid, gold painted slaves that High Priestess Celestina left chained up on either side of that altar of theirs.

It resembled more of a stone dais, with shackles and the whole bit, but I'm still half convinced they carved that thing out of big chunk of black hole, cause it takes nearly a full minute for anyone I've ever met to pry their eyes off the thing. Taking a seat in the front row of ancient dark stone pews I ignored the graffiti carved into them and took a moment to check my notes.

Flipping through the little notepad I tried to find the name of the woman I'd need to talk to. The High Priestess being one of those types who doesn't like the daylight too much, I figured their Arch Bishop'd have ta do. I found Europa Silesse's name down on a list of government officials I'd scribbled down a while back and tried to remember what she looked like and what sorta woman she was. It was never good to tick off cultists on their home ground, after all.

Then I remembered. She was about five and a half feet tall, with long, straight red hair pulled back into a pair of twin tails usually held in place by a pair of evergreen ribbons and the most compelling emerald green eyes I'd ever seen.

Of course, it wasn't that hard to recall what Europa looked like when she was standing right in front of me. To some, it might have seemed odd that the Archbishop wasn't all decked out in either flowing robes or something tight and leather, but in this town, you learn to expect the unexpected. All Europa seemed to be wearing was a long white t-  
shirt. It only hung to her knees, though, as at the time her stomach was stretched out in that perfect roundness that comes about when a woman goes and gets herself knocked up. Well, I knew it wasn't me at least, so I stood up and tipped my hat to the lady. No sense being rude. Hence I didn't make any comments about what it said on her t-  
shirt. "No Vacancy" in big red letters across her tummy.

"Sorry for droppin' in on ya like this, ma'am," I said quickly, meeting her somewhat exasperated smile with one of my own in an attempt to disarm the look of confused aggravation I saw brewing in those all too alluring almond shaped eyes, "But I'm workin' on a case and I needed to ask you a few questions."

Europa paused, about to say something, but was interrupted by a sudden pained look upon her face. "One- One second, sir," the woman told me, starting to breath like she was in a Lamaze class before all but waddling over to one of the small black, unmarked doors beside the altar.

I waited again, fully expecting her to be a while. But just about a second after the door closed behind her, I heard the woman let out a sound best not described in polite company, followed another I'd only heard down in that swamp they have in the Forest Of Darkness, and that was followed by a loud, echoing (and everything echoes in a cathedral this big) insectoid screeching before everything went silent.

Checking my watch, I spent a moment staring up at the flicking candles on the iron band and chain candelabras that kept this place lit 24/7 without ever having to be replaced. It was, after all, better than watching what the gold painted couple at the altar were doing. Again.

But then Europa came out of the back room and smiled, sweat glistening on her forehead as she smoothed out the long, ankle-length T-shirt she wore, her stomach once more flat as the prairies. Once more, I decided not to comment on the fact that her shirt now read, "This Space For Rent".

"Sorry about that, sir," the Archbishop apologized with an secretive, almost predatory smile, "I'm afraid you've caught us on one of our busy days. Church groups and committees and all, you know."

I gave a dismissive nod and pretended to check my notes again. "Alright, I won't take up too much a your time, ma'am," I promised, once more giving the most disarming grin I could muster, "Oh, and the name's Dietrich, by the way, Detective Frank Dietrich."

Europa crossed her arms under her bosom and tilted her head curiously. "That's strange," she replied almost teasingly, "I don't recall there being anyone by that name on the Watch."

I winced a little, couldn't help it, really, and I knew she said it on purpose. "Private Investigator, ma'am," I elaborated, "Now then, I have here that the Temple of Oblivion sometimes, on rare occasions takes private contracts from private citizens for Portal access-"

"We, don't like to brag about that, Detective," the woman interrupted, her expression becoming stern, her voice icy, the rest of her statement remaining unsaid. Just as well, I suppose, and I went on before she could ask me who blabbed.

"Well, the reason I ask is 'cause someone recently went missing. Someone one who was lookin' to acess the Portal. Nice and quiet like, if you know what I mean."

Europa sighed heavily and shook her head, a sly grin crossing her pretty face. "I'm afraid I haven't had anyone come here regarding 'private' or 'discreet' acess to the Portal in over a month, Detective," she told me dismissively, and I could tell she'd had enough. Anymore questions and I might find myself keeping the portal active for another year.

"Well, alright then," I told her, not needin' to be told to get out, "Thanks for your time, ma'am."

I gave a final glance over my shoulder as I was leavin'. Whether it was detective instinct, or I just wanted to check out her butt, I'm not sure, but I caught a fragment of her muttering as she headed back through a second alcove door. Something about mages. Or more specifically, Mages.

I think it definitely was her walk that made me almost run straight into the little guy on my way out. Hearing a sharp, angry curse somewhere down around my knees, I looked down and saw a small, scrawny little humanoid with mottled green and yellow skin and huge ears. Even with the glowing red eyes and the teeth like a mouthful of tiny razors, I still think he looked a lot like Hugh Hefner in the red and gold bathrobe he was wearing. And the glass of merlot didn't help much either. Of course, around here, it could very well have been him.

"Oh, terribly sorry," I apologized, my Shangrila citizenship papers not making me any less Canadian, but still the little gremlin sneered back up at me.

"Which way to the IBS meeting?" he demanded almost angrily, and I could tell right away that he was scared out of his tree. Gremlins ears only curl like that when they're acting tough to avoid a fight.

"Err, the second door by the altar," I told him, motioning in the general direction, feeling no particular desire to send him off into the wrong room, and was reward with a toothy grin as the little goblinoid ran off down the aisle like the fate of his species was at stake. Thinking for a moment, I decided it probably was and headed off out the huge double doors.

Chapter 6

Like I'd implied before, Shangrila really only has one alley. An odd bit of city planning to be sure, but it's far from the strangest thing that's ever happened in this town. Of course, being the only alley, Dead Beat Alley tends to take on all the characteristics of all the long dark alleys in all the Multiverse. Only ten times worse. My theory is, that in a big city, with lots of alleys, the urban decay gets spread out over a larger area. Sure, some alleys are worse than others, but some aren't so bad. But here in Shangrila, with only one real alley, stretching from the Red Light District all the way down to the Southern Promenade, everything bad, dark and slimy tends to gravitate to it. More than likely because the evil gets a whole lot more concentrated.

Of course, that was only part of the reason I didn't head down there straight away after my meeting with Jean-Marc Lavoie. There was also the fact that I still wasn't convinced the lead meant a whole lot, but mainly it was just that I really didn't feel like facing down some Cthulhoid menace in the rain. Once a lifetime was quite enough, thanks.

Now, the mouth of the Alley is actually not quite as bad as the rest, all things considered, with a handful of seedy business clustered around it soaking up the ambiance, but to go beyond that without taking a few precautions, now that's dangerous. So as I checked to make sure my pistols and shotgun were loaded, put on my rubber gloves and rain-  
boots before waiting around for a few minutes, listening to the constant rancid smelling wind that blew out of the hole that was Dead Beat Alley to make sure there wasn't anything overtly dangerous going on before just charging in.

All I got for my trouble was the constant low moan of the wind, the rattling of garbage bins and the squeaking of rats as big as dogs. Or was that dogs as big as rats? It was hard to tell in there. But then, just as I was about to step into the belly of the beast, movement caught my eye deeper in the inky blackness. Drawing a pistol, I aimed it at the approaching form, checking over my shoulder in case it was a trap as the swaggering figure came into view. What I saw made me chuckle at my own paranoia as I clicked the safety and holstered the weapon.

Staggering from side to side, weaving like a drunk despite prolly being completely sober, one of the four hundred or so varieties of cat-girls that seem to thrive in this town stepped out into the flickering light over the door to Whiskey Junction. Over all, she brought new meaning to the word "dishevelled". Her long red hair stuck up and out at odd, gravity defying angles, with bits of trash sticking out of it here and there as her slack jawed, half grin and glazed-over eyes made me half wonder if she wasn't a zombie. It was really only the quiet purring giggling she kept up that convinced me she was still alive.

"You alright, miss?" I inquired half out of habit, knowing full well that despite the tattered rags that used to be her clothing, the handful of scrapes/bruises and the bear trap on her tail, that she was just fine.

The cat-girl did her best to focus on me for a moment before laughing insanely to herself and leaning heavily against the red brick wall. "It. It was woooooonderful." she purred dreamily before slumping to the ground in a heap and snoring loudly. Well, at least she confirmed my suspicion. Whatever Jean-Marc had seen, it was prolly still in the Alley somewhere. Best of all, it prolly wasn't hungry anymore.

Taking out my trusty flashlight, I checked to make sure the sunlight setting was working okay just-in-case before heading off in the direction the woman had come, dodging around the piles of garbage and trying to ignore the squishing, crunching and other less identifiable sounds beneath my feet as I went.

I walked for what felt like miles through the dimly lit, twisting tunnel between buildings, often finding myself ankle deep in cold, icy water, or being forced to climb over the wreckage of stolen cars once parked here and set fire to. As my flashlight cut through the gloom that the sunlight never seemed capable of penetrating, various scavengers and more than likely predators scurried away, the constant sounds of scraping claws and chittering voices becoming easier to tune out as time went on. Even the distant screaming, shouting and occasional gunfire became distant background noise after half an hour of trudging through the crap that's piled up here over the last hundred and fifty plus years or so.

With one of my pistols held against the side of my flashlight, my back kept to the wall whenever possible and occasionally using dumpsters as cover when something larger and hungrier than myself stalked by, I eventually found what I was looking for. At the time I wasn't sure what it was, but my plot-sense told me it was significant. Even with all the other garbage and crap in Dead Beat Alley, the pile of slag and broken bits of stone and metal I found just felt right.

As I shined my light over the rubble that looked like one massive explosion had caused, I had only a few moments to contemplate what it used to be, or what happened to it for that matter. Before I could react to the sudden sucking/rattling sound I heard a short distance ahead of me, my flashlight caught a glimpse of something shiny black streaking out of the gloom towards me that went immediately for the light.

Blindly I fired a shot into the darkness as my flashlight flew from my hand, twisting to one side as I heard the round impact with something solid, eliciting more of the peculiar noise that always reminds me somewhat of screechy, insectoid hissing as I drew my second gun. Unfortunately whatever it was was fast and had far better night vision.

As I squinted at the looming dark shape now only twenty feet away, I felt something cold, slimy and strong wrap around both my ankles. As I was pulled down on my ass, straight into a puddle of something fowl smelling, I started firing as fast as I could, using the muzzle flashes to both get a look at the thing and to figure out exactly where it was. What I saw looked an awful lot like what Jean-Marc had seen, but in all honesty I'd hardly call a Himey-Class tentacle monster a leading cause of insanity.  
To my dismay I was able to catch a glimpse of my mercury-filled, depleted uranium hollow-points bouncing off the beast's oily hide, its single massive reptilian eye seeming a whole lot tougher than it looked as my pistols merely seemed to annoy it. Then, as I felt myself being pulled closer, the rest of the creature's tentacles hovering close like blind snakes, I gritted my teeth and tossed the pistols aside before going for my shotgun.

"Stand down, you're under citizen's arrest!" I called out to the tentacle monster, knowing full well it wouldn't listen, my suspicion proved right as I felt its tentacles start to slithering round and round my calves, moving higher up under my pant legs. In response, I fired a dragon's breath round into its eye.

The creature let out that angry, high pitched screeching sound again, and I knew I'd gotten its attention as more tendrils moved in, forcing me to pick up the pace. "You have the right to remain silent!" I shouted, a second blast of blue flame exiting my rifle, this time blowing one of its tentacles clean off, spraying green ichor across the soot encrusted brick walls of the Alley.

It didn't stop, though. I guess it was pretty angry at that point, and the cat-girl had just been an appetizer. "If you waive that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law!" My shotgun fired again, tentacles gripping my upper arms, trying to force them away from the weapon before dragging me through a pile of half-burned books towards the creature.

"You have the right to an attorney!" Blam! It lost another tentacle and would have a nasty burn scar along its flank if it lived. I, however, had a tentacle wrapping itself around my neck, forcing me to lower my chin to limit its effectiveness.

"If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you!" The final round I fired hit it dead center in the eye. The magically burning round punching straight through the creature and taking a fair amount of the monster's brain with it.

As the massive tentacle monster flopped suddenly lifeless to the ground, its groping tentacles going limp, allowing me a complicated, but not entirely impossible escape, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. As open minded as I like to think I am, there're just some things that are crossing the line for me. Even if it had been a terribly long while.

Finding my flashlight, I shined it around again and this time grabbed up a few of the charred and twisted pieces of rock and dark-metal before catching sight of something that confirmed a nagging suspicion I had. Lying there, half buried under a rock, was the desiccated carcass of a shiny black cobra. A naga, and a dead one at that. Palming a few bits rubble, I impulsively checked the serpent's pulse. As I'd thought, nothin'.

Just then a second beam of light lit up the area, forcing me to shield my eyes to see. I really wasn't surprised when someone started shooting immediately afterwards. Dropping and rolling, I came up shooting and took out my attacker's flashlight, letting my own sink down into a pile of muck that left us both in the dark but gave me the advantage really. I just wanted to get out of there, where as whoever it was that was trying to kill me, was trying to kill me.

Running back the way I'd gone, I began to get the feeling this guy had no idea how to actually shoot someone. His technique seemed to involve throwing up a wall of lead that didn't do much except take chunks out of the Alley's brick walls and ricochet off of abandoned dumpsters as I wove and dodged, finding my evasion all too easy. The other possibility was that I was being herded into a trap. That's why I used all the noise he was making against him and ducked behind a convenient pile of packing crates, waiting for my wannabe assassin to either run past or give up.

A moment later it seemed that my first theory was prolly the correct one. Squinting against the thick gloom I could hear him now, panting heavily as he slogged through the two-foot deep layer of trash that made the floor of Dead Beat Alley it's own personal biome. Soon enough he came into view, and I saw pretty much what I'd expected. A pudgy looking man who was even then holding his stomach and wheezing badly, the exertion far from what he was used to, the gun he held lookin' a might oversized and bulky despite his chubby hands.

Shaking my head in dismay I quietly stood up, both pistols aimed at the man and gave him a moment to catch his breath before clicking the safeties back and forth just to get his attention. As he looked up, I still couldn't see his face. Partially because of the gloom, and partial due to the ski mask he was wearing at the time that was no doubt making him sweat all the more.

"You mind tellin' me what this is all about?" I said, not really a question, but still done in a friendly tone of voice seein' as the threat was sorta redundant.

The shorter, rounder man's eyes went wide as he dropped his gun into the primordial soup at his feet, his gaze fixed on the twin barrels of my pistols. Without a word, he just shook his head and before I could react vanished from sight, leaving a small vacuum behind that the air filled in with a loud -pop!-. I'd see the trick before. It was something mages did from time to time and it left me with a whole new bundle of theories...

Chapter 7

With my best leads being a muttered comment from the Archbishop, a mighty suspicious invoice from the Merchants and a failed assassination attempt by a podgy mage, I decided it might be an idea to talk to a few of my contacts in the City before running head long into the Lukeion Arcanum's main hall demanding to speak to the Grand Magus. I had, after all, had enough lightning bolts tossed at me that week anyway. The next place I decided to stop by was Shangbuck's. The coffee wasn't as good it'd been at the little place down the road that'd mysteriously burned down a week before Ms. Walkabout opened the place, but it wasn't too bad.

Rumour had it, that Chouli Walkabout was dragged through the Portal, kicking and screaming by the Slavers Guild about a hundred years ago, but gained her freedom through a series of odd coincidences no one quite agreed upon. Of course, it was all those years the pleasantly mouthy woman'd spent on the street, alternately making friends and enemies that made her the person to talk to in town. There weren't many people in Shangrila she didn't know, even if they didn't know her, and there weren't many of those. Personally, I think she just opened the coffee shop so she wouldn't have to keep meeting people in dark alleys, though. And I can't say as I blame her.

Avoiding the chaos of the Square, I took the side street through the Business District and at first did my best to ignore the ten-foot tall werewolf having his way with a band of halflings along the way. Of course, I had to change that assumption once I noticed the spiked collar the lupine was wearing, and on a hunch stepped off the sidewalk and onto the small front lawn of The Three Moons Magic Shop where the group was doing its best to draw a crowd. I then tipped my hat to the halfling I noticed was taking a break, the small woman grinning and waving enthusiastically as she took a long drink of bottled water that prolly cost her more than a drink that actually had a flavour to it would've and was more than likely the result of some guy's backyard garden hose.

"Looking to join, gov'na?" she called out, purposely making her naked body jiggle and bounce and causing a small accident between a limo and a stampeding shoopuf.

"Naw," I told her, shaking my head and trying not stare as I pulled out a note pad, "I was just wonderin' if you've been into Shangbuck's today. I need to talk to Chouli, and I just wanted to make sure she was a good mood first."

The halfling snickered as she tried to take another sip of her drink, instead causing most of it to spill down over her overly large bosom. "Well, I'm sure she's calmed down by now!" the small woman laughed, "But she wasn't too happy about an hour ago when she tossed us all out for causing a 'disturbance' or some such nonsense!"

I had to laugh a bit, shaking my head as I tried not to compare the size of my fist to any portion of the werewolf to my left's anatomy or wonder how such things were possible. "Well, I guess I'll just have to take my chances then," I said with a weary smile, flipping closed the notebook, the twelve pages on how to keep Chouli happy having been eaten by a rabid were-canal beaver a week before, "I just hope she's forgotten about the last time I was in."

The halfling woman laughed as she set down her water bottle, shakin' her head before heading back to her friends. "Well, we'll be here all day if you change your mind!" she offered, but I knew I wouldn't. The swim fins they were using were a size too small, and I have really wide feet.

Crossing the street, I paused for a moment outside of the almost entirely glass building that housed Shangbucks. I cold see only a handful of people inside and it looked safe enough. Especially since the woman I'd come to talk to wasn't in the immediate vicinity and the back wall still had a few bullet holes.

Without much further ado, I made my way inside the giant fishbowl of a coffee shop like the incident with the zombie gnolls hadn't happed. It was always better that way. Instantly any weariness I'd been feeling before I came in was deleted, as I all but had to cut my way through the veritable wall of caffeine in the air, the scent tempered only slightly by the collection of other flavours that usually went into Shangbucks' coffees.

Taking half a moment to recover, I made my way through the maze of tightly packed chairs and tables, past the for customer use boggle game where last person had spelt out "Mangero Es Josephus", to the long fake marble countertop. With a grin I ignored the annoyed look the clerk gave me and grabbed up a copy of the Shangrila Herald.

"Could ya tell the boss I'd like to talk with her when she's got a minute?" it really wasn't a question, more like a statement of fact, and I quickly grabbed an overpriced yet dangerously addictive cookie out of the open glass jar before heading over to one of the overstuffed chairs in the corner. Sighing heavily, the overly-pierced clerk rolled his eyes before heading off into the backroom, miraculously without subjecting me to even a single ounce of smarm.

Chouli came out a few minutes later, accompanied as always by the scent of her infamous patchouli flavoured perfume, right about when I'd done laughing at the comics section. Well, okay, it wasn't the comics I was laughing at. It was the personals section on page four. It always amused me the things people were willing to admit to be looking for on a daily basis. Sometimes you could even watch the evolution of someone's character as they went from asking for "Polite gentlemen for discrete encounters" to looking for "the entire Shang U rugby team for an 'event' in the middle of Xanadu Square" with only the occasional pause for tattooing, piercing and the seemingly compulsorily kidnapping.

Glancing up at the stylishly dressed young woman, I had to grin as I noticed the steaming mug of coffee flavoured coffee she'd brought with her. Settin' it down in front of me with a look of quiet suspicion, Chouli stared at me for a long moment. It was the sorta look your mom gives ya when she's ticked-off at you, but still has to make ya dinner. The mug my extra large double-double came in was decorated with what I at first thought was a depiction of the Snow White and the Seven Dwarves tale. When I realized what was actually going on in the decorative display, though, I quickly turned my thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"Just couldn't stay away I see," commented Chouli with a bit of a smirk, my teeth easily decapitating Prince Alexandre in all his sweet caramel-cookie glory, "Looking to save the world again, Detective, or is this just a social call?"

I chuckled a bit, taking a sip of the overly hot coffee, half wondering why it was that in "Utopia" the coffee was always either freezing cold or scalding hot. "Naw, I'm just here for some information, actually. I thought you might have picked up on a rumour somewhere. Somethin' involving a snake, actually."

Chouli's smirk deepened as the woman rolled her soulful brown eyes, folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her seat. "I ain't into that, Dietrich," she replied with that subtle sarcasm of hers that we all know and love, "Now then, what's your snake's name."

"Viper, but that's neither here nor there," I replied, taking another careful sip of coffee just to wash away the flavour of the Prince's head, "Anyway he's a naga named Kareem. He was prolly looking ta book passage out a Shangrila, but as near as I can tell, he decided on a more unconventional method. One that didn't involve the Portal."

The woman laughed outright, giving me her best "stupid human" look. "You know that's not possible," she told me, not bothering to lower her voice, but it's hard to embarrass me, even in public, "No matter who you go to when you want something smuggled out, it -always- comes back to the Temple and the Portal. One way or another."

I shrugged helplessly, daring another nibble of our not-so-sweet Prince. This time that left leg he didn't seem to be using. "Well, as near as I can tell, he didn't make it that far. I spoke to the Archbishop and she didn't seem to know anything about it-"

Chouli cut me off with a heavy sigh, the woman rolling her eyes and shaking her head, causing her long, tightly curled, whiskey-coloured hair to shift alluringly. "Don't you ever assume someone's lying to you, Detective?" her question was rhetorical, but I answered it anyway.

"She had no reason to," I answered simply, taking a moment to stare off into the waitress, "I'm not with the Watch, and it's no secret they don't like me much. Plus, even if I was with them, the Watch'd never move against the Temple. Especially not for something as minor as letting a private citizen slip out the Portal."

"Heh, maybe he's keeping the Portal working as we speak," chuckled Chouli, the idea causing me to cringe just a little.

I shook my head, pulling out my note pad to just the right spot. "Not a chance," I corrected with a tiny feeling of triumph, "First of all, Europa's the President of the IBS. She'd never allow an endangered species to be harmed, not even for the good of the City. And secondly-" I glanced up to meet the woman's hard gaze, "-the Temple may keep that Portal of theirs open with human sacrifices, but that's just it. It's 'human' sacrifices. Not naga. And thirdly, I'm petty sure that I found his body somewhere in the middle of Dead Beat Alley."

"Touch‚, Detective," Chouli smirked, leaning forward in her seat and lowering her voice, the woman's hazel-ish gaze casting to one side to make sure no one was listening, "Alright, look. I might know someone who knows something. People talk to me, it's true, but I don't know everything."

I grinned and promised to keep her secret.

"But there's something I need you to do for me first."

I found myself chuckling where others might've shuddered or sighed heavily, having received this line almost as much in the line of duty as when playing FF games on my old PS2. "What'cha need, Chouli," I asked, thinking better of asking too many questions about the upcoming Fed-Ex Quest.

"Oh, I just need you to deliver a small package to a friend of mine out in the desert," she replied with what was supposed to be a dismissive shrug, but I could tell was meant to conceal a situation with more gravity than a fight between two black mages who'd only ever bothered to learn Demi.

"Now wait a Toronto second," I interrupted, slamming down my mug so hard it spilled out onto the table and partially ate away at it, "You don't mean the Badlands, do you?"

Chouli grinned at my distress. Almost like an alligator or a shark. Something predatory anyway, but either way, I had a weakness for dangerous women. Especially ones who looked sweet and innocent on the outside the way Chouli did. "Alright then," I told her with an equally wide grin, exuding all the confidence I could muster, the extra I couldn't really use siphoning off into the robotic looking customer across the room who used it to ask his elven boyfriend to marry him, "No worries, ma'am, I'm up for it!"

The proprietess chuckled. "She must be some babe," teased Chouli, getting up and signalling to her counter clerk.

"Say what?" I questioned, digging through my pockets for a handful of copper commons to pay for my snack.

"The woman that hired you for this," Chouli replied, handing me off a small box wrapped in plain, unmarked brown paper, "last I checked, you weren't fond of the Badlands, Frank."

I shrugged, mentally glancing at the brewing reply I knew I had, one that could tear a hole right into Chouli and leave her heart in pieces on the floor. But the part about me being dead right next to it gave me the extra encouragement I needed to simply smile and keep my mouth shut for once. "It's not my fav' place," I assured her with half a smile, "but it could be worse." Yeah. A lot worse, but it still made me think about the first time I arrived here. It still made me think about her. And I still wasn't ready to deal with that, not today anyway. And especially not with Chouli. "Alright then, I'll be back prolly sometime tomorrow assuming I don't fall into the Sarlak Pit or anything."

"Didn't they seal that up?" Chouli inquired as I got up to leave, "Last I heard it ate the Desert Palace, so a bunch of ticked off bounty hunters from the Tuskian Carbine came in and fed the poor thing an nuke..."

Chapter 8

I should've known I'd come here again eventually. Rachael'd mentioned that Kareem had found the Scroll in the Badlands, after all. But even as I drove out the South Gate past the snickering guards who placed bets on if they'd ever see me again, all I could think about was the first time I'd been there. About how this lawless wasteland had taken from me the only woman I'd ever loved. Donna.

When we'd first come to Shangrila in my old beat up '87 Chevy Malibu, we'd wound up here, just south of what passed for civilization. We'd been taking turns driving that night, trying to find a road, any road, and having no idea where we were or why there was suddenly a second moon in the sky. When dawn finally came, I was the one driving again and was barely awake. Donna'd offered to take over for me and foolishly I gave in.

If I'd been the one driving that morning, it would've been me the raiders started shooting at. With crossbows mainly, but they work just as well when the bolt heads are enchanted and can cut through metal like butter. Seein' as she was in the driver's seat they snipered her from the top of a ridge, leaving a fair sized hole in both my door, and Donna. Before I had time to fully wake up they were all around us, and although I managed to route the lot of them by the end of it, it was way too late to save Donna. She wound up dying just a quarter mile outside the City Limits, and I still can't come out here into the Badlands without ichin' to finish what I started with that band.

It was late afternoon as I drove down that same road, havin' a much better idea of where I was goin' this time, and also keeping a closer look out for trouble. I knew approximately where the old man I was looking for lived, and if it weren't for the expected unexpected I could've made it down there in about an hour. But things are seldom easy. Especially in the Badlands.

The first indication I got that I'd been spotted came when I heard the rain of small arms fire landing across the hood of my car, leaving a few more tiny dents and chipping a little bit more of the light blue paint that I'd always had trouble finding more of. Cursing, I swerved right and left to make myself less of a target as I scanned the sand dunes to either side of me, hoping I could just out run the first wave and conserve ammo.

I really didn't have time for the Crossroads Raiders anyway. Generally speaking, as far as threats went, they were rank amateurs, and I was up for savin' my ammo for the End Boss. They hung around near the South Gate near the first crossroads where the terrain changed really suddenly, and once you were past that, and chose a destination, they generally left ya alone. Partially because they still liked to be close to the City, and partially because there were worse things out there than a handful of pretentious part-time brigands.

Sighing boredly, I easily swerved around one brave Cross Roads Raider as he ran blindly down the road towards me, either wearing or his body sprouting a thick carpet of dark brown fur that made it impossible to see much of him, but left the swirling scimitar he carried quite visible.

The goon did his best to slash my tires, I'll give him that, but like I said, I've been through this before. Moving on, I resisted the urge to fishtail, to take him out at the knees, but I just kept tellin' myself he wasn't worth it. Then something hit my windshield, hard enough to put a crack in the bulletproof glass. I had a brief glimpse of what looked like an oversized crossbow bolt, and felt a serge of adrenaline as I thanked whoever might be listening for one of Shangrila's odd little quirks.

Being that Shangrila is basically just a small pocket dimension floating in the Astral, nabbing people occasionally and dragging them in from one of a billion or so alternate Realities, there's often a few physics problems that need to be overcome. Those of us who find ourselves in trouble now and then call it 'system clash'. When one Reality's physics clash with another's, say, like when some moron decides to fire an arbalest at my car, sometimes the two Realities can't agree on which one's the right one. One reality might say, "cars explode the instant they're hit with anything" and other might say, "ballistic armour is different than impact" and another might say "arbalests can shoot through castle walls, so why not bullet-proof glass" and so on and on.

Generally speaking, this actually works to make the City fairly safe most days. Fighting in the streets doesn't happen all that often. At least no in large groups. And I think that's part of the reason. But when it does, Shangrila itself kinda has to step in. Or at least, that's my theory. It's really kinda random. Sometimes it works in your favour, sometimes it doesn't. I've seen a hail of bullets from an SMG fail to blow a plywood door off its hinges on the same day I saw a small airplane explode in flames because a lightning bolt hit its wing. I guess I've always just been lucky, though.

The impact of the bolt did manage to push my car back and to the side a little, causing me to swerve and then get turned completely around. As the back end of my old Malibu came around, I heard a distinctive thud cut off some kind of lame battle cry and quickly shifted into reverse, never letting go of the accelerator.

Driving backwards down the old highway at a hundred and ten, I pulled the shotgun off out of the holder I had for it on the dashboard and hung it out the driver's side window, pointing it straight at the hoard of twenty or so Mongol-wannabe's. As I took aim, I passingly wondered what my range would be like today, their shouted battle cries sounding more like something out of a bad Western, and eventually just decided to fire.

The explosion from the end of the gun was louder than I'd though it'd be, but that happens when Realities collide, I suppose. I was pleased, though, to note that most of the hoard in the front row went down, causing a messy pile up as the horses they were mounted on tripped and fell forward over their comrades, makin' my life a while lot easier. Spinning the wheel hard to the right, I raised a wall of smoke around my car as it spun around twice before pulling out of the turn and hit the pedal harder than before, knowing the crossroads weren't far ahead, and not yet concerning myself with why the Cross-Roaders had an arbalest. It really wasn't their style, but right then, I had a whole lot on my mind.

Pulling back my rifle, I tossed it onto the seat beside me and leaned forward, trying to get every last ounce of speed out of the car wreck waiting to happen that I could, almost not seeing the lone figure standing at the crossroads before it was too late. Cursing as I turned the wheel hard to the right and then the left, I managed to fishtail my way past him before turning right back around. From what I'd seen, he wasn't from around here, and prolly lost. I wasn't about to abandon someone in the Badlands, but I guess I should've. Flinging open the passenger side door, I drove back towards the man, barely slowing down as I caught a proper look at him and realized just how out of place he looked.

Standing there at the crossroads in a tackily red Armani suit, the man grinned in a used car salesman sorta way and lifted one of those rounded hats the Brit's always wear in old movies as he caught my eye. He wasn't that old. Prolly just into his twenties from the look of him, but something in those dark blue eyes made me think of someone older. Much, much older.

"Get in!" I called without thinking as slowed beside him, my gaze fixed on the wall of sand rising towards me, the Crossroads Raiders hoping to make a final strike at me before I drove too far into their rival's territory.

"Much obliged, sir," the young man replied, chuckling to himself as I politely slid my shotgun back into its dash holster, "it is a terribly hot day out there, wouldn't you agree?"

I just nodded and accelerated, spitting dust out my window and heading west, my mind momentarily flashing back to the first time I'd taken this road. Of Donna asking that faithful question, "Shouldn't we have gone left here.?"

Glancing in my review mirror I was pleased to see the group of mounted raiders coming to a halt behind me and breathed a heavy sigh before glancing at my travelling companion and offerin' my hand. "Frank Dietrich, by the way. Sorry 'bout this, but I'm gonna have to make a small detour before I can drive you into town. I've got an errand to run!"

"No, not at all," the used car salesman chuckled, and the hair on the back of my neck rose as I caught the hint of smarm in his voice, "I'm going this way anyway, Detective."

I frowned for half a second and decided not to give the man the satisfaction of questioning how he knew my profession. "You can just call me Connell, by-the-way," he replied, taking my hand and causing a strange chill to run down my spine, completely contradicting the oppressive heat of the much closer than normal seeming sun, his grin widening as I felt him trying to use his charm like a bludgeon.

"So, you from around here?" I inquired conversationally, keeping my tone light as always, staying friendly even as my lizard-brain screamed at me to hit the non-existent ejector seat.

The man chuckled to himself staring out at the dessert as in the distance I could just make out the looming peak of a pyramid. "Not exactly," he replied, watching me with senses other than his eyes, his back east accent almost convincing me that the man really was from Nova Scotia, "but my Associates have quite a lot of interest in this dimension. Lots of untapped potential, if you know what I mean."

I had the horrible, crawling sensation that I did. "Ever think you might be working for the wrong side?" I inquired, the two of us grinning at one another like two predators who meet at a watering hole, the lack of even a single bead of sweat trickling down from his short, sandy blond brow confirming my suspicions.

"No. Not at all," he replied, seeming to find the situation deeply amusing, "how about yourself, Detective? I mean, seriously. What's my dear cousin paying you? A few dozen royals? Big deal. My people can give you more than that, Detective. Much, much more."

Some people I've known would've freaked out right about then. Some might have screamed, or chewed the steering wheel or even pointed a gun at him. I just kept driving for a moment, finally understanding what was going on and taking the turn southward that would take me from the hilly sand dunes and into the dry, broken landscape that was more like a savannah than a desert. I somehow figured that if I could stall this guy for a little longer, I could quietly ignore the dark figures I occasionally spotted in the distance hiding in the sand where they thought I couldn't see them.

"I'm fine with memories," I said at last, my smile being the first to slip, my eyes kept on the road ahead, "If I wanted a cheap clone I'd go buy one. Donna's better off where she is than here, anyway."

My travelling companion smirked, but I could sense his annoyance. I pegged him as an Impudite, a Fallen Mercurian. "Are you sure about that, Detective?" his question almost made me laugh. They aren't as good at reading people as their counterparts, but we wouldn't've been having this conversation if I wasn't sure, "And besides, there are plenty of other things we could offer you, you know."

"Like a way home?" I couldn't help but laugh as I said it, and I have to say I was rather pleased with myself to see the slight red glow in the smarmy little freak's eyes when I did.

"Anything you want, really," Connell said flatly, turning away to glower out the window.

"And all I have to do, is give up this case, right? Just leave Ms. Rachael high and dry, is that it?"

Connell shrugged. "Basically," and he smiled again as the barren wasteland stretched out around us, the mountains I was heading towards just a blue haze on the distant horizon, "but you don't have to make your mind up straight away, Detective. You see I'm being kind enough to help you drop off that little package you have from Ms. Walkabout. It's the least I can do, after all. But, I'm afraid getting out of here is another problem. Especially since it seems that the Death Toll Biker Gang, the Tuskian Carbine, and the Sisterhood Of The Rusty Dagger have all been so." Connell grinned evilly and I momentarily had an urge to buy a used car from him, "Open to negotiation!"

"Couldn't get the Yuan'ti in on it, could you?" I said with a smirk, again not giving him any satisfaction.

The Fallen One sighed heavily and shrugged. "Win some, loose some. You get used to it."

"You'll loose this one," I said simply, not even looking in Connell's direction as I momentarily decorated the inside of my car with the back of head. By the time my ears stopped ringing from the pistol shot, the body he'd formed had sublimated and I was driving up the steep incline that lead to the old hermit's hovel with a demon-goo free car once more. I'd have to thank Rabbi Cohen for the blessed bullets later, though.

The trail up into the Jagged Peak Mountains isn't exactly the Autobahn, and as much as I hated to do it, I wound up leaving my car parked behind a boulder at the bottom before hiking up what some people've jokingly called the stairs. And I suppose if you can call a winding, treacherous path carved into the side of the mountain by the wind over the last eon or so stairs, then they're stairs. I, of course, decided it was better not to question the fact that the mountains had been here for eons, yet Shangrila was only 164 years old or so if one ignored the Sealed Times. It was better not to annoy the Universe, after all.

My destination was wide shelf of rock that jutted out inexplicably from the cliff, a few hundred yards or so from the summit. It's a fairly large, open area, and I'm half surprised no one besides an old hermit ever claimed it, as it gives a great view of the surrounding land and really only has one way in or out. Assuming one can't fly.

After taking a moment to ponder the curve of the horizon, which no one could ever seem to get to prove Shangrila was round, I turned my attention to the cone-shaped tent made of random animal hides near the end of the ledge. I couldn't help but smile as I saw it. It reminded me of my car. It showed signs of being partially burned, cut open by claws and swords, and even shot at judging by the small holes near the top. It wasn't pretty, the patchwork design looking more like it'd been repaired constantly as opposed to being made that way. Again, just like my car.

Checking to make sure Chouli's package was still safe, the moderately sized rectangular box tucked under my arm, I pulled back the tent flap without knocking, seein' as there wasn't any point in trying, and let myself in.

I found pretty much what I'd expected to find. A small, but uncrowded little room, the dirt 'n' rock floor covered with a straw mat the hermit prolly made himself, with a hole cut in the center of it for his cooking fire. The old man himself was pretty much what I'd expected. Small, scrawny, wrinkly, kinda grizzled but he didn't seem bitter enough. (Still, to his credit, he DID have the "grizzled old prune" look down pat.) Also, his Nationality seemed to've been lost somewhere along the line what with the 14 hours of sunlight every day. Although the deep tan old Jard had made him look just a tiny like he was made of boot leather. (Which is kinda the way my ex-roommate liked his steaks.)

Without looking up from the little caldron of bubbling goo he was stirring with a shard of bone, the old man just grunted when I flashed him a smile and tipped my hat to him. "Sorry ta bug ya, and all, eh! But I've got a package from Chouli for ya," I was half surprised to see his dark blue eyes actually move in my direction at that, "She didn't say what it was or anything, but-"

Jard's left hand shot out from underneath the worn and ragged grey shawl he wore as fast as a desert viper and reminded me more of a claw than a hand. It was also surprisingly steady despite the apparent lack of muscle, givin' me the feeling there was more to the old hermit than he let on. Not that he ever actually spoke or anything.

Handing over the brown paper wrapped package my curiosity got the better of me and I stayed to see what it was. After all, if I was going to have to fight my way back out of there, I might as well get my money's worth.

Jard's eyes seemed less distant, more focused as he quickly tore into the package with both hands, using the bony points his fingers almost like daggers to cut through the string that held the paper in place before ripping it open and tossing the paper into the fire. I winced a little at the waste, but quickly recovered as I stared in bemusement at the box the old man held in his hands, his gaze intent upon it.

As Jard slowly opened the box of chocolates, more than likely from the Decadent Desserts Company, I just shook my head and laughed quietly. It made sense in a way, but I still had to wonder what Chouli owed the old man to risk sending someone through the Badlands just to give him chocolate. Before I could turn to leave, though, Jard looked up at me, fixin' me with one of those old man stares you can't pull away from until he's said what he's gotta say. But the hermit didn't say anything, though. Instead, to my surprise, his stern, jowlly face changed, and he gave me the slightest smile.

"Yer welcome," I replied with a grin and a nod, decidin' it was best to leave him to it, and wondering how long it'd take Connell to form up a new body and get his mercs to get back to chasing me instead of killin' each other.

With any luck, I'd bought myself some time; they weren't likely to be patient, especially not without their employer breathing down their necks. Still, I decided it was high time to hurry, so I headed back down the "stairs" as quickly as I could, not for the first time regretting not splurging for an automatic car starter.

A hail of bullets cut into my right-rear quarter-panel as I swerved to avoid the explosion that took a sizable portion out of the road. And for the record, no, I don't know what calibre they were. I mean, seriously! What sorta power-gaming, gun obsessed freak has time to worry about that dreck in the heat a battle!

Keeping low I winced as several fair sized rocks rebounded off my windshield. Apparently Shangrila'd decided at that moment that collateral damage was a no-no or something. Or maybe I'd just picked up the Feat Vehicular Evasion last time I'd Levelled up or something. Either way, I was still being chased by a hoard of angry gypsies lead by an insane ex-waitress with one good eye through a barren, rocky desert that sorta reminded me of Arizona, except that Arizona is exactly 114,006 mikes across, where as the Badlands are as far across as they feel like being that day.

This might not have been so bad (even the AVM's they were tossin' weren't really that big a deal in of themselves) if it wasn't for the fact that I could see the mile high cloud of dust that showed me the approximate position of the incoming gang of motorcycle enthusiasts once lead by a seriously issuey ex-professional wrestler.

Deciding it was high time to test out the four-wheel-drive, I made a sharp left and fishtailed off the long strip of wide granite that formed the road and headed out across the rock strewn, pothole infested wasteland. That was about when I remembered it was also about high time to install the four-wheel-drive option on my car. Nevertheless, the tall spires of rock, most with gratuitous boulders perched impossibly at the top of them, made for great cover as another AVM shot out towards me from the back of an old army jeep.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror I could see the bright red clown nose someone'd tacked onto the front of it, as well as the wide toothy grin that almost made the guided rocket look like a cartoon-ish shark. Accelerating, I headed for an outcropping shaped like a huge donut, the inner circle glowing blue for a moment as a strangely secure-about-his-  
place-in-the-universe-looking guy in a blue and yellow uniform with a big 13 on the back leaped out of it.

As I passed by, the grey wolf-like mongrel dog that was with him barked and nearly took a chunk out'a my tire and the guy dove for cover behind a rock. Myself, on the other hand made a hard right and then a left, the AVM tracking me with ease as I realized the Universe was getting confused as to how missiles worked again. It hardly mattered though as I held the wheel down and slammed the pedal all the way to the floor.

The smoke-show I caused prolly made me an enemy of Mr. Descendant Of The Vault Dweller, but I figured I'd make it up to him later. The AVM meanwhile followed me into the cloud of choking dust and quickly lost track of my car. As another fiery explosion went up, I drove like a madman out of the dust-cloud and hoped no one'd be needin' the Guardian Of Forever anytime soon. My luck increased as the Chosen One and Dog-  
Meat survived the blast with minimal injuries and a hankerin' to shoot back.

Doin' my best to ignore the green flashing lights of plasma rife fire, and the liquid screams of dying gypsies, I drove onward, hoping that the Sisterhood of the Rusty Dagger would have its hands full for at least long enough for me to deal with the Death Toll Biker Gang.

I didn't have long to wait for the line of dust to turn its attention towards me, the dozen some odd men and woman in mostly black leather astride black and chrome motorcycles that were in most cases all about over compensation began shooting even before they were within proper range.

Ignoring the hail of tiny metal pellets that ricocheted off my windshield, trusting the Universe for the moment not to suddenly decide shotguns were long range weapons, I gripped the wheel a little tighter with my left hand as I pulled open a concealed panel on my dash with my right. I'd've preferred to stay on the defensive for a while longer, at least until the Tuskian Carbine reared its oh so ugly head, but it was then that I felt more than heard the green bolt of plasma melt a line across the passenger side of my car from behind. I wasn't sure what'd happened behind me, but I wasn't in the mood to let it be the end of me. Today just wasn't a good day to die.

Quickly typing in the proper code, I took hold of the emergency brake lever and bided my time as a bit of extra machinery hummed to life under the backseat and I swerved out of the way of the explosion of an unguided rocket that blew out the window of the driver's side backdoor. "I guess collateral damage is back on," I muttered bitterly, glowering at the V formation headed straight for me, "Let's see what other surprises physics has in store for me today!"

Pushing the button on the emergency brake, I twitched a bit at the sound of metal grinding against metal as the front grill of my car folded down and outwards, revealing a small incline that then moved to extend to nearly the ground. Ramming my way through a stand of cactus, I waited until I could see the sun reflecting off the chrome of their bikes as well as a few of their weapons.

Ducking down as the next wave of rounds dented most of my car's hood and left enough cracks in the windshield that I half considered just pushing it out, I pulled the lever of the emergency brake. Gritting my teeth as gravity seemed to shift, forcing me back into the driver's seat until I could only hold onto the steering wheel through sheer force of will, I let the nitro-rockets do the hard work for the thirty seconds they were guaranteed to last.

Not exactly expecting an old, beat-up clunker-looking car like mine to have too many surprises up its sleeve, the three Death Tollers in front went up the ramp on the front of my car, the lead one sailing straight up, over and past me before he knew what was happening, while the other two tried to swerve away, only to take a less dignified route off the front of my car. Almost as one, the two bikers slid sideways and landed hard on the ground, their bikes dragging them both sideways in time to be run over by a few of their friends as my car slowly returned to a more normal speed, the sound barrier safely unbreached for the moment.

Being able to move again, I retracted the ramp before making a right as the bikers turned around to pursue, the gypsies behind them seeming to have gotten their act back together as well as having somehow gotten a hold of the Chosen One's plasma rifle. Heading straight back for the road, I heard the sharp sizzle of air being fried again a heartbeat before my back bumper turned to goo and fell off behind me.

Cursing as my car dropped the short distance back onto the road, the suspension complaining bitterly, I purposely slowed to allow several of the bikers to catch up. Things were getting personal now, and as my back window shattered from another hail of gunfire I leaned forward over the wheel, making for a smaller target as I accelerated just a little. Trying not to blink, I watched the rear-view mirror, waiting for the first two hairy, leather-clad, grinning goons to predictably drive up on either side of me.

I wasn't surprised that the first two to make it to me were going to try and catch me in a crossfire. Infact, it was exactly what I was hoping for. Slamming on the breaks as they both fired their sawed off shotguns, an awfully satisfying series of thuds impacting with the back of my car as a third biker hit my trunk, doing the flip and roll over the roof of my car as it skidded to a halt, the two Death Tollers, now a reasonable distance ahead of me, wound up blasting at one another with sawed-offs.

Grinning a might smugly, I floored it, another satisfying bump in the road finishing off the one who'd tried to shoot me in the back, I checked my six as the motorcycles of the two dead bikers skidded into one another. Not quite noticing in time, I couldn't help but curse again as edge of my front bumper rammed the twisted remains of both Harley's, sending sparks and flames up over my hood as well as the remains of my left fender skidding off behind me.

Swerving to avoid going off the road, I accidentally fishtailed around another plasma bolt and drove head on through an explosion caused by yet another AVM making a new pothole in it. Dust blinding me and rocks hitting me mostly in the head, and rather painful-like at that; I felt it was a safe bet that the vultures would be moving in for the kill mighty soon.

Coughing as I hit a button on the dash for the mostly useless internal fan, I could hear the approaching bikes over the ringing in my ears. Knowing that they wouldn't fall for the same trick twice, I bent up my left leg to hold the wheel steady with my knee and drew both pistols. Glancing to the left and right, I crossed my arms just as I noticed the two dark shapes coming along side of me. One was swinging a spiked chain of some kind, probably with a grapple, and the other seemed to be carrying a passenger who looked a lot like he was planning on hitching a ride with me. Almost in slow motion, I unfolded my arms, both pistols going off as I extended my arms, firing on blind instinct as I gritted my teeth, half-praying that Shangri-Physics was on my side that moment.

I can't say whether or not they survived or not, or even what I hit to cause the right side motorcycle to go skidding off the road with a hail of curses from the passenger, but I'm fairly certain that the one on my left was hit in the gas tank judging by the explosion as well as the dark shape that sailed screaming into the air behind me.

But as the road started making a sharp turn to the northwest, I could see another, much larger cloud of dust coming towards me from the east. Already I could hear the sizzle-pop of laser fire as a whole rainbow of coloured energy bolts filled the air around my car, a few even impacting and sending up gratuitous sparks as world-laws collided.

"About time," I muttered quietly to the Tuskian Carbine as the wave of small hover vehicles became visible as tiny reflections of light, their ginormously huge mother-ship following close behind, its sharpened wedge of a front end ploughing through a few distant sand dunes as the terrain went from hard, dry wasteland to actual sand and dunes.

I knew things'd get interesting from this point on, and that's what I was counting on. Connell may have paid all three groups to take me down, but I doubted that there was much he could offer them to make them stick to any plan that involved working together, especially as the Sisterhood and Death Tollers crossed into the Carbine's territory. The Tuskians were having enough trouble from the Followers Of Ra to the east as it was, and the way I figured it, it was only a matter of applying enough pressure as two other groups invaded the contested territory. That and staying alive long enough to see it all go down.

As the land-speeders and more mid-sized hover craft got closer, the aim on their storm-trooper rifles mysteriously improving, I dig my best to stay on the road, cursing as bullets ricocheted off my trunk, tore up my passenger side seat and finally blew out the back tire on the left side.

Figuring it was now or never, I pulled down the panel on the dash again and hit another code, causing a row of small jets underneath the trunk to extend and begin spraying the granite roadway with oil. With loose sand now on either side of the road, I figured that at the very least it'd slow down the bikers and perhaps annoy the gypsies a tiny bit.

Without looking back, I made a hard right, loosing sight of the Tuskians behind a large dune, but I can't say I was surprised as one of the land-speeders crested the hill and sailed on overhead before its front end dropped down sharply and started to fall. I didn't have time to laugh at their stupidity, though, as the moment I knew would come finally reared its ugly head. Readying a single pistol once more, I gritted my teeth as several hard impacts sounded upon my roof and one hit my trunk as two men foolishly dressed in black robes landed on my hood, followed by an explosion some distance behind me as the land-  
speeder wiped out into a dune.

With no real manoeuvring room to simply knock them off with simple physics, I fired two rounds up through the roof with my left hand as I made a quick grab for my rear-view mirror that'd landed in the passenger seat when the front window had gone down. Bringing up my knee to hold the wheel again, I was pleased to hear a yelp and a rolling thud as one of the people on my roof went tumbling off, but it was the two on my hood that were my immediate concern.

As the two dark men grinned, their robes flapping in the breeze as they used some cheese-weaselly Force Power or other to not go flying off, they each brought out a small black tube that quickly started to hum as a long beam of red light extended from the end of each one. As the two stabbed their light sabres forward, I fired at one of them as I used my mirror to reflect the other's light sabre, the end of the blade reflecting back at an angle and narrowly missing stabbing its owner in the shoulder.

The other having easily deflected the bullet with his energy blade, I played my first card. Suddenly laughing, I shouted, "Hey! Your light sabre's bigger than his!" It didn't really matter which one I meant. Especially seein' as both were exactly the same length anyway. But it had the desired effect. As I turned in my seat, dropping the mirror and pulling out the second pistol, the two Sith Lords on my hood immediately starting bickering about whose was bigger.

Turning and twisting around a bit in my seat to face the two standing on my trunk, heard the odd sound of a sabre cutting easily straight down through the roof as the second Dark Jedi up there stabbed straight down. The pain along my left shoulder reminded me of why I don't eat pork as I gritted my teeth, cursin' real incoherent-like as I turned the roof of my car into Swiss cheese until the screaming stopped and the white wave of pain became just a searing burning wave along my arm.

My distraction, though, gave my two hitchhikers on the trunk a chance to orient themselves, the two men already slicing away at part of my already damaged roof, intent on turning my car into a convertible. As their red light sabres sliced through the two rear supports, I struck upon an idea. Putting on the most horrified express that came ta mind, I adjusted the grip on my pistol and pointed at them as I shouted, tryin' ta sound as appalled as I possibly could, "Eww! You touched each other when you did that! That-! That's like so totally wrong, dude! Ya can't touch another guy!"

I could only grin as the look of sheer terror crossed both their faces, their ramped homophobia spreading through them like wildfire as they slowly turned to one another and I gave a bit a thanks as my hunch proved right. You could always tell their type in Shangrila. They tended to be the ones with something to prove, and they generally have enough "firepower" to do it.

So, as the two "men" threw insults at each other, their sabres swinging in wide, stylish arcs that were sure to miss but would allegedly prove their manliness, I hit the emergency quick release on my trunk. With a sudden hiss of unleashed compressed air, the trunk flew open with enough force to send the two Sith sailing high into the air behind me. A place where I can only assume they kept fightin' before hitting that weird barrier Shangrila has that keeps most folk from flyin' too high.

I don't know if they landed safely, or banged their heads against the world-wall or not, as right that second an explosion went off in my trunk. Dropping my now empty pistols, I grabbed the wheel again, turning hard to the right and left as bits of trunk-lid shrapnel flew in all directions, my guess being that the gypsy chicks were predictably as annoyed with the desert dwelling homophobic males around here as the ladies in the city were and that my timing was just a bit off.

I had little time to worry about it, though, as the sound of diesel engines roared to my right and the odd low whine of hover thrusters echoed to my left. Giving a quick glance to either side, I could see three of the Sisterhood's jeeps and one of the boat-like hovercrafts flanking my sides. As the Gypsies turned their vehicle mounted heavy machine guns towards me and the ugly menagerie of non-human bounty hunters on the skiff aimed ridiculously huge guns at me that strangely all did the same damage as their pistols no matter how big they were in my general direction, I could hear the sound of the remaining motorcycles coming up just behind me.

Breathing a heavy sigh a heartbeat before the shooting started, I did the only thing I could do. Throwing the emergency brake, I punched a concealed button under my dash. As a hail of six-inch long explosive, hollow-point, silver coated, made of depleted uranium, filled with a mixture of cyanide and wolves bane armour-piercing bullets erupted from the gypsy's machine guns, the Tuskians unleashed a storm of rainbows as they fired their assortment of rifles, those with extra arms firing pistols as well as the assassin droid they HAD to have with them as some kind of contract fulfillment fired from shoulder-mounted laser cannons as it chucked a handful of thermo detonators at me.

Time all but slowin' to a crawl, I was thrown forward in my seat, winded by my seat-belt as it dug into me, my car's tires locking in place, squealing like a hundred nails across a chalkboard as smoke rose and sparks flew from the bare rim where one of my tires used to be. As the first salvo ripped into the front end of my car, the parachute that popped out the back managed to save me from the worst of it as my speeding assassins flew on by. As a consequence, the bikers who'd been tailgating me had no time to dodge and nowhere to go if they'd thought about it, what with the other two factions crowding the roadsides and the huge parachute all but blocking out the sun. Ducking as a few of them fired blindly through the open back window, I winced as I heard their curses, the five motorcycle pile up in process behind me just starting to unfold as time once more resumed its normal course.

My car continued to slide forward, skidding and careening, threatening to go off the road and leave me with no easy way back to town, I couldn't help give a laughing shout as I saw the brilliant light of explosions a few hundred meters ahead of me, but just then, I had other troubles. Before I could react, a large hairy fist ploughed into my jaw like a sledgehammer, which made sense in a way as the leather-clad biker had a rather large one strapped to his back.

My head slamming into part of the ceiling as I pushed back, I made a mental note to curse the moron who'd taken out my back window, allowing this goon to come sailing into my car when he'd gone over his handlebars and tried my best to defend myself. Grinning from behind his thick, bushy and surprisingly clean beard, the biker's right fist flew at me like a jackhammer, my seatbelt holding me a wee bit too well in place and keeping me from dodging all that much. Hitting me about four or five times before I could get my arms to work again, I grabbed his fist with both hands, both of us straining as I pushed him slowly away from my face, both of us grinning madly at one another as I realized this guy prolly wasn't a homophobe and that violence was prolly my only recourse.

As my car skidded and turned to the right, the left rear quarter panel hitting a dune and bouncing back as we skidded along, I jerked my head sharply to one side before letting go of his fist. As the biker over extended himself I threw myself forward as best I could, slamming my forehead into his nose as I made a grab for his belt with one hand and grabbed the wheel with the other, both my feet pressing against the main brake.

The biker cursing and swearing, his first instinct being to hold his broken nose, I barely had time to pull his own knife on him before he swung again, his straight arm punch hit the left side of my face so hard I nearly lost an eye as my right arm pushed up as hard and fast as I could make it go in such cramped conditions.

All at once, the man stopped, his expression amazed as he stared at me, warm wetness oozing down my hand before I gritted my teeth and twisted, making it all the worse on both of us. "Sorry, chummer," I said quietly, lackin' malice as I yanked his own blade out of his heart, lettin' the biker expire without any of my usual melodrama, "Nothin' personal or anythin'."

My car skidding at last to a stop, I closed my eyes and caught my breath until the biker's smell started to get to me. Just ahead, I could hear the sounds of fierce fighting. The two other groups had prolly killed enough of each other to make them forget their deal with Connell and go back to their usual rivalry, which was good, as behind me I could hear the other bikers cursing and swearing as they regained consciousness.

Undoing my seatbelt, it took me way too much time to drag and push my unwanted passenger out the door, my already ruined upholstery now a complete write off. Glancing back as I pulled the door closed, I wasn't so happy to see the group of wounded and unhappy goons limping angrily towards me, their signature shotguns looking even less friendly than before as they came at me slowly, aiming carefully as they did.

Frowning a bit, I threw down the gearshift as I released the emergency break and slammed the gas-pedal. There was another round of cursing and a few guns went off as I backed over two or three of them at high speed before throwing back into forward and taking off again, bits of my car flying off in all directions as solid slugs impacted here and there and buckshot took out what little remained of the back of my passenger seat.

I wasn't worried about the Death Tollers, though. My attention was on the excessive, tangled melee of dark Jedi, bounty hunters, droids and gypsies just a head of me. Taking a deep breath and waiting a moment to get used to the dull, thudding pain that took up most of my head, I finally hit the accelerator, sending a hail of sparks up from the tireless rim before the other found traction. By the time the bikers were back on their feet again, though, I was in the middle of something that seemed almost as bad a situation as the one I'd just more or less gotten out of.

Gambling that they'd ignore me for at least a while longer, I drove straight into the middle of it all and was soon cutting left and right, occasionally risking loosing all traction as my tires hit the loose sand at the sides of the road, but doing my best to avoid either side as they occasionally ran out into the middle of the road, melee weapons being waved madly in the air in a futile attempt at intimidation.

As several explosions shook the ground beneath us, and a stray light sabre swing cut through another of my roof's supports a hail of .50 calibre machine gun rounds tore off my passenger side rear door, I couldn't help but notice the looming shadow of the Tuskian Carbine's floating palace hovercraft-thing as it came steadily closer. Taking advantage of a straightaway, ducking as a laser blast singed my hair, I then noticed the way the sun was glinting off the long shiny metal tube that was extending from the front of their flagship.

Somehow it figured that the Tuskian would have a weapon that was entirely too phallic, but a super weapon was a super weapon no matter what it looked like. But really, it wasn't actually on my list of things to do that day to get caught up in it when the Tuskians decided to put an end to their rivalry with the Death Tollers and the Sisterhood once and for all before more than likely using it on their Egyptian buddies right afterwards.

Deciding not to see how Shangri-Law felt about laser cannons with a five hundred meter spread, I decided it was time to stop being quite so polite. Popping open the glove compartment, I pulled out a set of earplugs as I drove headlong into a small mob of gypsies fighting a pair of wookies and what appeared to be an anthropomorphic female preying mantis. Ramming them at nearly top speed, I jammed in the plugs and turned the horn button in the middle of my steering wheel a little to the left before slamming it down.

As bodies flew left and right, and my car jumped over a few new inconvenient speed bumps, a blast of sound loud enough to shatter eardrums filled the air around my car, sending about half of the combatants to the ground, clutching their ears. Gritting my teeth, I held course, the explosions, laser fire and collateral damage to my car lessoning as I dove over and through a dozen or so people, most of which had been on Shangrila's good side at that moment and were still standing, attempting coup-de-Gracie's left, right and center. (Strangely, though, they didn't have an inch of whale skin between them)

Glancing at the now stationary hover-palace, I could see its gun locking into position before the front end began to sparkle and glow as the solar collectors atop the barge powered it up. "Just my luck," I muttered, an angry Sith Lord sliced off a sizable chunk of the front of my car, the right front corner conveniently falling hard on his big toe as I drove past, "forgot my giant mirror in my other pants."

The freakishly wide beam of golden light hit the far end of the melee, well away from me at first, and did most its damage in the form of a melted roadway and a few new solid glass sand dunes before beginning a slow, unerring line along the path of the granite roadway. As people ran for their lives, screamed and died, or just posed dramatically as the beam past harmlessly over them, I leaned out the side of my car, shotgun in hand and emptied it ahead of me as I drove for my life. Not really aiming or anythin', most people got the hint and ran for cover, and I left a few good dents in what might have been Boba Fett's armour, but around here, you can never be too sure.

The beam of golden death edging closer, though, I hit a patch of bad road and felt my left front tire blow, my car now rocking back and forth as it tipped and swayed, the rims hitting and skidding and sending up sparks as my forward momentum slowed. "Kevlar," I muttered bitterly, most of the fighting behind me by then, "Next time, I'm getting Kevlar tires!"

Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed that the beam was arching faster now, the barge shifting its position, more than likely tracking me as equally more than likely Connell increased the bounty on my head to keep them in line.

Looking forward, though, I spotted something that made me grin, and I set up a second nitro burst. There wasn't much hope of out running the barge. Its gun more than likely had a longer range than I had gasoline with the way my luck had started running, and I had a better idea.

Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, I hit the nitro rocket's activation a second time and closed my eyes and mouth as tightly as I could before being thrown back in my seat, my car barrelling straight down the road to where it made a sharp turn, a large sand dune necessitatin' the change in direction. My car, however, went straight on through just as the beam swept along the road, ripping it up and causing old forgotten landmines to explode dramatically behind me. Taking a last deep breath, I held it as my car flew headlong into the dune, the old, reliable clunker burying itself nearly completely in the sand just as the beam swept over the dune.

As sand rapidly filled my car's interior, I held my finger over the nitro release. With only three charges I only had one shot at it, and as the beam of cheesy death focused on the dune I was in the middle of, the sand around me started heating up. Trying not to think about what'd happen if it didn't work, I waited for what seemed like an eternity. Even if I did get out of the dune again, there was still the chance they'd spot and retarget me again. My timing had to be perfect. They had to think I was dead. So still I waited, sweat turning the sand that now nearly encased me to boiling mud. As the seconds ticked by, the soul crushing darkness of the sand dune almost as maddening as the near silence that pressed down around me. The only noise the dull hum of the laser beam as it turned layer after layer of sand to glass, the melting heat reaching towards me like a dark, burning hand. And as the sand covered my head, I couldn't even scream as I felt my calm starting to shake, the moment of truth approaching at what felt like a crawl.

But then, just as the atoms in my deodorant gave up, I felt the sand around me begin to harden, I pressed the button as hard as I could, saying a silent prayer as I waited an agonizing second and a half for the nitro rockets to power up again. I then had to wait as my car shook all around me, the suffocating heat getting worse and worse as the now glass sand dune vibrated, the thin layer of molten mud around me saving me from a worse fate as I waited yet again, the probability of failure stacking fairly high against me. But then, I've always had a thing for impossible odds.

Just then, I heard a loud cracking sound, my car's vibration combined with the constant heating of the laser beam causing the glass sand dune to start breaking apart. The only trouble was, I knew what'd happen if it got much worse. Of course, I was relying on things getting worse, seein' as I was out of air and my lungs were burning so hot, a part of my brain tried to convince me that the mud would be cooler than the carbon dioxide I was holdin' onto. Never bein' one to give in to hopelessness, though, I held on for the eternal moment it took before Shangri-Physics decided it'd had enough and let the inevitable happen.

As the sand dune exploded outwards in a shower of uncountable shards of razor edged glass that slew most of the now milling spectators, my car shot out from the center of the mass like a rocket, clouds of smoke billowing into the air behind me as the light from the explosion was visible in the Northern Mountains at the other end of Shangrila. My car then flying through the air, I managed to pry my eyes open as I inhaled deeply, the dry desert air a burnin' sweetness in my lungs as I realized I couldn't feel much of my arms or legs anymore.

But even the fact that I was somewhere near a hundred meters off the ground and flying through the air threatening to bounce off Shangrila's world-wall seemed the least of my worries as I turned in my seat and wiped the mud from my eyes as best I could, trying to catch a glimpse of the hover-barge. I knew it was out there somewhere, out beyond the smoking crater where the dune used to be, but I figured as long as I couldn't see it, it prolly couldn't see me. And with what little was left of my car I doubted very much that I'd count as a radar blip. And even if I did, they wouldn't expect me to be flying through the air. More than likely they sent a pile of ground troops in to look for me. Assuming they still cared and didn't go back to fighting the gypsies and bikers. Either way, it wasn't my problem, and I had larger concerns.

Cursing the loss of the parachute, I used the butt of a pistol to break the bits of heat fused glass off my keypad and hand had to smash the buttons a few times to make them move again. As the nitro rockets gave out, my car started falling like a stone. I knew my remaining tires were prolly fragged, and there wasn't much hope of driving across the sand in what was left of my car. That's why it always pays to improvise.

Quickly bangin' the glass off the center of the steering wheel so the airbag wouldn't fail me, I hit the final key with my free hand and winced a bit at the sound of tearing, grinding metal on metal as along my car's flanks the metal pushed forward on now ruined mechanisms. Gripping the steering wheel tightly as I nose-dived, I took a deep breath as the canvas pontoons I'd installed inflated with air and somehow managed not to over inflate and explode when I finally needed them. Glancing back again, I cursed under my breath. Most of the back end was missing now, and my car might as well have been a hatchback. Of course I really didn't need the propellers anyway, seein' as I wasn't going to be landing in water.

"Donna," I said quietly, glancing upwards as the ground came at me at terminal velocity, "if this doesn't work, you'd better be savin' me a seat in Valhalla, babe!"

Gritting my teeth I felt a serge of adrenaline and I thanked my maker that I was the sort to see life threatening situations as fun and thrilling instead of completely terrifying. After all, I'd only brought one pair of pants with me. Seconds past, and I actually had to laugh at my own impatience, the weightlessness of freefall was exhilarating and all, but I've never been the sort to enjoy the feeling of helplessness. I'd done all that I could, and all I could do was wait, the ground coming closer and closer. The mid-sized sand dune I was heading for seeming just a little to compacted for my liking, but it'd have to do.

As I hit the ground, the world shook, and weight came back to me with the jarring thud I'd been expecting, but I still managed to smash my left elbow against the door a split second before the airbag kicked in, and my spine still felt like someone had tried to launch it out the top of my head from the way my seat collapsed before bouncing up and making me hit my head on the ceiling.

My bemused joy at not being quite dead yet was quickly washed away, however, as the sudden realization that Shangrila might have been following Hollywood car-physics in that moment struck me. Tensing, I waited for the airbag to deflate, and momentarily considered getting out of the car as quickly as I could, but then I noticed the way I was moving again, my car sliding slowly forward, building speed as I went.

Pushing down the top of the airbag, I laughed again, the plan had worked better than I thought. The long pontoons on the side of my car were working quite well with gravity and the looseness of the sand. For a split second, I flashed back to an old TLC documentary on Egypt. The sand there was apparently really, really rounded for some reason. It gave you some interesting options when burying Pharaohs, and it also apparently made for great tobogganing. Or did this count as bobsledding? Well, it certainly wasn't the luge.

Either way, I was headed down the steep hill at a decent clip, and by the time I hit the bottom, I wasn't overly surprised to find I was sailing up and over the next dune. As I headed down, I made a mental note to ask the boys down at Santos' Garage to add a few more toys in case this happened again. It was fun and all, infact it reminded me of the song we used to sing as children. How'd it go? "Crashing through the snow, in a four door Chevrolet?" something like that. Irregardless, I found I wasn't making bad time, and was rather disappointed as after the third dune I came to a long straightway. In the distance, I could see the road again, and beyond it, the Southern Gate. But without a sail, there wasn't much hope of getting out of the Badlands with what was left of my car.

After taking a quiet moment to make sure that the aches and pains I felt weren't broken bones, I took stock of what I had. There was a decent amount upholstery left thanks to most of the back seat being okay, and my trench coat wasn't entirely tatters, so I figured I that I could chip away most of the remaining glass, and maybe use a combination of tire patch kit glue and safety pins I could prolly jury rig something in about two hours. The trouble was, I didn't have two hours.

Not far away, I could hear the drone of motorcycle engines again. It seemed that the Death Toll Biker Gang wasn't quite the band of schmucks I'd taken them for. As I reloaded my pistols and shotgun I had to smile, admiring their persistence and ability to ignore idiotic rivalries when there was actual work to be done. It's funny sometimes, how just about everybody has at least one redeeming quality.

Pulling up the door handle, I had to sigh heavily as my driver's side door fell off and hit the ground with a certain finality. Shaking my head I got out of the car, my shotgun slung over one shoulder as I walked a few paces away from the vehicle. There I stood watching as the biker's started to circle like vultures and I made a mental note to definitely splurge on the four-wheel drive option. That or seriously consider picking up Whirlwind Attack. Maybe I'd even get four spare tires this time. Not that it mattered much. Everything in my trunk was gone at this point, along with my trunk for that matter.

Sighing heavily as their game continued, the circling bikers leering and making rude, lewd and socially unacceptable comments, I leaned a bit to one side and did my best to look bored, tapping my foot impatiently and rolling my eyes 'til I got their leader's attention. And I have to admit; it wasn't the worst attention I could've gotten.

She wasn't tall by any standards, infact, she seemed awful small to be a biker-babe, but then I'd come to expect literally anything, at any moment from Shangrila. The black biker leathers seemed to work with her sun-bleached, nearly platinum hair that seemed to go on and on forever; her curious eyes glowing an eerie green as she halted her bike and sneered at me with what most people under normal circumstances would've considered to be an almost supernaturally cute face.

"You're the one Connell wants, ain't ya?" she called out from a safe distance, the other bikers having formed a loose, but well armed circle around me. Figurin' I'd have to spend more of that karma I had left from my last adventure to get out of this one unharmed, so I nodded.

"That's right, ma'am," I agreed, tipping what was left of my hat to her, not feeling the least bit surprised that her voice was far more authoritative and just generally older than her appearance made her out to be, "I take it you'll be representin' the Gang this fine day?"

The woman smirked, and for a moment I was certain her teeth were a whole lot sharper than they should've been, but a second later and they seemed just plain old normal. "Until our leader returns anyway," she said with bit of a laugh, the others laughing out right, mostly at me, I suppose, "And that'll be pretty soon, near as I can tell"  
There's a definite silence that accompanies the sound of about a dozen some odd shotguns clicking into readiness as their all aimed straight at you from pretty much every direction. But that was only one of the lessons I learned that day.

"Now hold on a second there, missy," I interrupted, lifting my free hand for emphasis, "Okay look, what's Connell payin' ya all for my head on a plate? 20 off on leather products at Obsessions or what?"

The woman gave me a dirty look, but I still did my best to smile real friendly-like. "If you -must- know," she spat, her gaze remindin' me of what the term "withering" meant, "He promised us the only thing that really matters. He was going to return Undertaker to us."

I sighed and rubbed my eyes as not to roll them, missing the woman's wistful look. No one really knew what happened to the ex pro-wrestler turned biker gang leader, but he'd vanished one night before I showed up in town, so I doubt I had anything to do with it. Still, the story was rather familiar.

"You DO know what Connell is, don't you?" I inquired, interrupting the moment of silent reverence that had fallen over the group, "He's an demon. An Impudite, the really sneaky, subtle flavour. Do you know what they'll do to you over time? They suck the life right out of ya! And they'll promise ya anything to get what they want to-!"

Just then, I felt something hard jab into my back, followed by about forty ba-jillion volts of electricity surge through me. As I gritted my teeth and let out a muffled sound that prolly wasn't entirely manly before falling to my knees, the biker babe dismounted and walked towards me, her small stature not taking away from the fact that she could prolly kick my butt at this point. Which was kinda ironic, as it seemed to be what she was intent upon doin'.

Her backhand was a whole lot harder than I would've thought it could be were I back home, but I was startin' to develop a theory or two about the woman, especially considerin' the odd feeling she gave me as she came near. Only the sharp pain kept my mind clear, and I was actually kinda thankful for it.

"What do you know!" she screamed in my face as I glanced up at her, "So what if he's a demon! So friggin' what! If it'd bring 'Taker back, I'd tear you apart with my bare hands!"

I couldn't help but give the poor woman a sad smile, my heart going out to her. I knew exactly what she was going through. "He promised to bring Donna back to me," I said unbidden, causing the biker to take pause, her angry expression momentarily slipping as her shaking hand held in the air before striking me again, "I lost her when I first came here. Not far from this place, actually. It wasn't you guys; so personally, I've got no problems with ya all. It was one of the Cross Roads Raiders. Dunno which one, but I can't help but buy a copy of the Herald whenever the Watch decides to use them for target practice."

The woman smirked, chuckling as she shook her head. "Everyone's got a sob story, bud," she said, shaking her head as it became hard to concentrate again, and I started compilin' theories about just what she was. There was something about her eyes, and the subliminal effect was more than just perfume, but what she said next put everything back into immediate and chilling perspective, "Kill him."

Trying not to stare at her butt as she turned and walked away, I forced myself to spin around and use the butt of my shotgun to knock the tazer out of the hand the biker directly behind me as the others crowded in close. The weapon flying out of his hand, the goon rushed me before I could reorient, and before I knew it he was on top of me, his fist ploughing into my face. For me, my experience with bikers was turning out to be rather repetitive.

Bringing my legs up, I wrapped my ankles around the burly man's neck and yanked him backwards as I levelled my weapon at him. For a brief second, I momentarily considered negotiating, but then I remembered something someone had told me once. It's said that Shangrila only has eight-thousand eight-hundred and sixty-nine people in it, and the rest are just extras called in for crowd scenes. I suddenly go the feeling that taking him hostage wouldn't help much, so with a tinge of regret, I took care of any migraine problems he might've been having.

Rolling across the ground as the first shotgun blasts hit where I'd been, I grabbed up the broken door of my car and slipped beneath it. As the high velocity impacts against the reinforced metal nearly deafened me, I quickly rolled down the window and aimed my shot gun out, firing blindly as I propped up the door against my car, keeping under what little cover I had as I waited to think of another bright idea.

The bikers moving in closer, I dropped the rifle and drew both pistols, firing right, left and center to keep them off balance. A few went down, but as they advanced, they kept firing and it didn't look too good. That was when things got worse.

From out of nowhere, I heard the all too familiar sound of laser fire and scream as one of the bikers was hit in the back, his body strobing with brilliant yellow light before turning into a pile of smoke and ash. The crowd of leather clad thugs turning to defend themselves; I took the opportunity to reload and wondered how many Tuskians I could take down before they finally just lobbed a thermo detonator my way.

Strangely, though, it wasn't the Tuskian Carbine I saw coming over the hill. The group was all decked out in ancient looking armour that didn't cover a whole lot, but the serpentine helmets they were wearing certainly looked rather intimidating. As they ran over the ridge, blasts of searing green light flared from the ends of their cobra-  
shaped staves and I knew things were about to get interesting.

Deciding to conserve ammo, at least until I figured out whose side I was on, I laid low for a while, watching as a few of the snake-  
worshipers went down rather hard before they starting taking the biker's seriously. About half them turned nearly instantly into five-  
meter long cobras as the rest either kept firing or went into melee as some of the bikers started exhibiting a strange, unreasoning fear of them.

"You guys'd better be Naga and not Yuan'ti," I muttered, trying to recall the differences between the species, snapping my fingers several times until I remembered that Yuan'ti were vipers and Nagas were cobras.

Leaping out of hiding, I let the adrenaline rush take me and shouted out a laughing cry as I started firing with better accuracy, wounding several of the Death Toller's before they eventually took the hint and started running, at which point the shootin' was just for show. After all, I'd no hard feelin's towards them.

As the motorcycle engines became a distant drone once more, I tipped my hat to one of the tall, dusky skinned warriors. The one with the schnazziest helmet to be specific. "Thanks for yer help, chummer. Much obliged!"

The man turned towards me, lifting his head and staring down his nose like I was a bug or somethin'. "You work for Rachael, don't you?" and yeah, his voice actually did kinda hiss a bit. I nodded and he took a long, slow look around.

"Have you found Kareem?" he asked bluntly, and I got the feelin' this guy was one of those nose in the air nobles Shangrila seemed to be crawlin' with. Still, it always pays to be polite.

"Fraid so, chummer," I replied, nodding Northwards, "Near as I can tell, he got into a bit of scuffle with a tentacle monster out in Dead Beat Alley."

"And the Scroll?" His voice didn't change as he asked it. It was still imperious, harsh, and I might add, real unfriendly.

I shook my head. "No sign of it, I'm afraid. But there was a guy there. He might've had it on him, I'm not sure."

"Any leads?" I hate it when people make assumptions, but in this case it was true.

"A few, but I want to follow up the less life-threatening ones first"  
He nodded again, waving to his followers. "Return to your vehicle, my people will move it to the safety of the City where you can return to your investigations, Detective. This place is not safe for you now."

I kept my sarcasm to myself and kept my mouth shut, just nodding and getting in as one of the serpent people pushed my door back on long enough for me to tear a strip off the upholstery and tie it back on. About fifteen minutes later, as I made a mental note to keep the duct tape in the glove compartment instead of the trunk, the Naga were pushing me back onto the road and across the threshold.

Tipping my hat to them I turned the key in the ignition, my car sputtering unwillingly to life once again. "Much obliged!" I told called to them, before driving northward on just the rims, sparks flying in all directions as people stopped and stared. I didn't care much, though; I had an appointment with Ms. Walkabout, and it was best not to keep Chouli waiting.

Chapter 9

It took a whole lot longer than I would've liked to navigate the streets and get back to Shangbucks where I met up with Chouli again, the bent rims where my tires used to be leaving deep furrows in the pavement that I was sure'd be fixed by morning so I wasn't gonna worry too much about it. Being that it was getting late, she was more than happy to hand over a small card with a name, meeting place and time on it to me. With the late hour, though, I just wanted to go home and die. Although, in retrospect, I hate it when the Universe takes me literally.

By the time I unlocked the door at the Blue Fountain Apartments on my third try and pushed it open with my foot, it was well past midnight, and the bit of silvery light of Shangrila's two moons through my open window was the only illumination in my apartment. Trouble was, I'd left the window closed when I'd left that morning.

Quietly drawing both pistols as I turned around, I did my best to pretend to not have noticed the inconsistency. Grumbling a bit too loudly about the rough day I'd had, my ears listening to the heavy silence that hung in the room, I pushed the door closed with my foot before turning quickly around and aiming at two separate shadows. Slipping out of my shoes and making all the noise I would've if nothing'd been wrong, I stepped quietly down the short hall into what passed for my living room, my eyes adjusting slowly to the gloom. Predictably, that's when the light went on.

"I get the feeling that you think you're quite funny, don't you, Detective Dietrich?"

Squinting against the glare with one eye, I swivelled to aim both pistols at Connell, the Impudite crossing his legs as he leaned back in my favourite chair, the man picking a bit of lint off his tackily red Armani suit. "Well, I've always liked ta think so," I replied offhandedly, managing to open the second eye just a smidgen, "So uh, can I get you somethin' to drink? Hot led, maybe?"

Unsurprisingly Connell rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "This is hardly a social call, Detective," he told me wearily, runnin' his perfectly manicured fingers through his perfectly styled sandy coloured hair, "I'm here to make you one last offer. You've yet to find the Scroll, but you're close. And my Associates don't like that, Detective Dietrich, not one bit."

I couldn't help but smirk, and even if I could've, I'd've done it anyway. "You gonna offer me eternal youth and beauty?" I asked, pleased to see the slight facial twitch the question instigated, "Or do you only offer that ta Keepers?"

Connell's sneer peeled a bit of the paint on the wall behind me and made my clothes smoulder just a bit. "Do I look like a follower of Kobal!" he demanded, slamming his fist down on the arm of my chair, the demon's tone posreal drippin' with sarcasm as Connell spoke through gritted teeth, "Look, Detective, you are quite correct. I cannot bring you back your beloved. But what I -can- do, is give you a name."

I didn't like the toothy, used car salesman grin that crossed his face as I felt the colour drain from mine.

"Yes, Detective, a name," he continued, his kind all too good at knowin' what was goin' on in our heads, his voice slowing down into the condescension range, "The name of the man you're looking for. That one little Crossroads Raider who can give you what you really, really want."

I snickered, forcing my arms straight as I aimed for both of his abyssal blue eyes. "You think revenge is enough of an incentive ta make me betray a client?" I inquired, forcing down my building anger with a laugh. As much as people talkin' down to me was number one on my get me angry straight away list, I'd always found it to be a good idea never to let myself get real angry. At least not when my life was in danger. There was always time for anger when I went down the street to the Black Horse Gym where I could do something constructive with it.

Connell flinched again and I made a small mental note. "Why not?" he replied with forced civility, his teeth not parting as he spoke, his grin not the sort I'd want greeting me on a good day let alone had the one I'd just had, "It'd certainly make you feel better, wouldn't it? Help you let go of all that nasty guilt that's been gnawing away at you deep inside."

"Naw, as long as I can still feel bad about somethin' I know this place hasn't completely gotten ta me," I chuckled again, lowerin' my pistols before breathing a heavy sigh and walking towards the kitchen, "You sure ya don't want anything? I think I've got at least one bottled holy water in the fridge somewhere."

"Stop it!" the Impudite snarled, a small wave of heated air pulsing through the room like a shockwave, causing the ice elemental living upstairs hammer on the floor again for me to turn the heat down, "I'm serious here, Detective! If you don't stop looking for that wretched Scroll, I'll- I'll-"

I looked over at him as I pulled open the fridge door and grinned. "You'll what?" I laughed, accepting the Guinness the slimy green tendril that sprouted from a large tinfoil wrapped Tupperware container handed me, "kill me?" I couldn't help but snicker at the thought as I pushed the door closed with my foot, the four month old cheese catching its tail in it again, the thing letting out a small, painful squeak, "Yeah, right. You tried that already, it didn't work. If you wanted me dead, I'd be that way already. You're negotiatin' now, so I think it's high time I ask why."

The man in the red suit sat a little taller, pulling down his lapels sharply as he glowered at me. "It's quite simple, Detective," Connell replied, regaining his composure as I opened the twist-top and leaned against the small bit of wall separating the darkened kitchen from the sparsely furnished living room, "I've decided to take a tiny liberty with my Associates plans. Basically, seeing as I'm sure you'll have the Scroll in your hands fairly soon, I was thinking that what you could do is hand it off to me instead of Rachael."

I laughed again. I couldn't help it. I mean, sure, most people would've stared at the demon in horror at the idea of such a betrayal. I mean, that's like a eighth plane kinda offence right there, except that in this case they reserve you a window seat near the kitchen! But seein' as its best not to get all riled up in dangerous situations, I just laughed, holdin' my stomach, pointing at Connell like the idiot he was and downright laughing my butt off at the idea. This, of course, didn't sit well with Connell. With the exception of Kobal, the Demon Prince of Dark Humour's followers, demons generally didn't like bein' laughed at.

Admittedly, it prolly wasn't a hugely good idea to annoy Connell quite so much, and I barely had time to drop my drink and dive to the floor as my favourite chair burst into flames. Short, curved and somewhat pointy horns then ripped their way out of Connell's forehead as wings, made of eerie green flames shaped to look like feathers scorched the cracked, dingy plaster of the wall behind the cinders of my chair. As the demon snarled angrily, his now clawed hand lashing out to knock over my lamp, I rolled behind the coffee table and knocked it forward for cover just a Connell tossed a small ball of flame at the place I'd just been.

Doing my best to ignore the sudden grease fire in the kitchen, I drew my pistols again and fired blindly over the top of the table, bullets ripping up the plaster as Connell leapt out of the way, his back to the window, a few stray bullets ricocheting off the metal wall supports and tearing into his suit without doing the demon much harm. Which really just goes to show that ya shouldn't use up all your +3, Holy, Bane Vs. Fiends ammo on nameless faceless NPC's.

"Enough of this!" Connell roared and I leapt up, seein' as its better to die on your feet and all, but as I aimed both pistols in the general direction of his eyes, and Connell prepared to toss another ball of scorching death my way, our Mexican standoff was interrupted by several loud, unannounced arrivals. None of who seemed to know how to knock. As my front door was kicked in, my living room window shattered. As though this wasn't bad enough, a section of the wall burst inwards, adding plaster and mortar dust to the wooden splinters and shards of glass in the air.

Diving for cover again, I caught a glimpse of the trench-coated goon that'd come through the front door. He must've been seven feet tall and about four feet wide, the light from the hallway obscuring his features so all that I saw was the muzzle fire from the oversized Tommy gun he immediately started firing into the room.

As chittering curses and screams filled the air, I looked up from behind the end table and squinted into the dust filled air, only half-  
making out a few of the smaller shapes that were diving on Connell, the demon's burning claws slashing at the first few to pieces before he deflected two others with his fiery wings.

"Go for the eyes!" I shouted, coughing as I got a lung full of plaster and brimstone, my arms aching as I fired several rounds that skimmed off the Impudite's head, his regeneration acting too quickly even as the large goon with the Tommy gun filled Connell's torso with high velocity, steal-jacketed lead and I resisted the urge to make any comments about miniature giant space hamsters, "Go for the eyes!"

It was prolly a good thing I did, because I didn't really notice Connell ripping out a section of wall behind him and lobbing it at me until it was too late. Fortunately, though, I felt something hard impact with my shins and immediately lost my footing in time to see the chunk of firewall shatter behind me.

Wiping my eyes clear I blinked a couple of times before I could make out the tall, thin shape crouched just behind my couch that was setting up a shot with a long barrelled pistol. It was then that I noticed what'd hit me. From beneath the creature's coat came a long, hairless rat-tail that shifted back and forth. The long furry snout was snowy white, and judging by the fall of long tangled hair from beneath a jauntily angled fedora, I'd say the Rat-Kin in question was female.

"Much obliged, ma'am!" I yelled out over the sounds of gunfire and cursing, the Rat-Kin giving half a shrug before squeezing the trigger.

"Infertile half breed!" she cursed, the shot hitting Connell in the forehead as he twisted to parry the two long daggers another Rat-Kin was suddenly attacking him with, "Blue! Get his attention, try for headshots if you can, but I need to hit his eyes!" She spared me a glance with her huge pink eyes and grinned. Honestly, it was nice to know that not everyone was out to kill me.

Dropping the left-hand pistol, I braced the right with both hands, using the end table as cover. "Aim left, I've got right," I told the woman beside me who nodded as the gigantic Rat-Kin in my doorway laid down a covering fire that chewed up what was left of my couch before finishing off what was left of my cleaning deposit and finally managing to plug Connell a few times in the chest.

"Right there with ya!" my companion replied, both of us gritting our teeth as Connell turned in slow motion towards us, his eyes glowing red, his mouth full of long fangs as he snarled angrily.

Then, at the exact same moment, we both fired. Both bullets spiralling outwards as the Impudite continued to turn towards us, the window of opportunity small enough that a split second sooner or later would've been a wasted shot. As the Rat-Kin with the long, curved daggers ducked under the hail of bullets from Blue, the rat stabbing upwards into Connell's stomach, the demon bent forward, his eyes widening, his head moving down to just the right spot. For a split second time seemed to stop. Connell's fearful expression etched there for all to see just before both rounds slammed into his eyes, shattering them like glass before twin streamers of blue/white light fired out from their sockets. In a moment, though, it was all over. With a deathly, unmanly wail, Connell's body crumpled into dust, blue/white light shining out of him as he went screaming all the way back home.

Slowly standing up straight again, I surveyed the damage to my apartment and knew I'd be spending a few months sleeping in my office. Sighing and shaking my head, I put my pistols away just as another Rat-  
Kin made an appearance in my doorway. The dust in the air obliging by obscuring him melodramatically for a moment as he loomed forward into the flicking light of the grease fire that still burned on the walls of my kitchen.

The tall, confident looking rat wore his grey trench coat over his shoulders, his fingers linked casually before him as he chuckled softly to himself, his dark eyes scanning the apartment with a bit too much bemusement for my liking. I held my tongue though. I wasn't really in the mood or the condition to deal with a pack of ticked off Rat-Kin right then, and besides, they had saved my life after all.

Meeting my gaze at last, the smiling rat stopped just inside the living room, the other rats moving to check who was and who wasn't still alive as they tried their best to act casual about seein' if there was anything left worth looting.

"Ah! Detective Dietrich!" the newcomer said conversationally as if noticing me for the first time, his thick Brooklyn/Italian accent not seeming the least bit odd, "Mr. Asiago sends his greetings."

I nodded thoughtfully, trying to place the name. "And I'm much obliged to Mr. Asiago for his help here tonight," I replied politely, motioning to the pile of ash that used to be Connell, "I'm a bit under the weather tonight, though, so I'm a bit off my game. I'd more than likely be the one dead if his friends hadn't've shown up."

The Rat-Kin gave a dismissive wave. "Well, ya see, Detective, Mr. Asiago owes Mr. Bensawa a great dept of gratitude, but seein' as rumour has it that Mr. Bensawa is no longer among us, that debt falls to you, seein' as you're tryin' so diligently to help him out and all."

I wasn't about to argue with Rat-Kin logic and smiled appreciatively. "Can't say as I can argue with that," I chuckled, offering the rat my hand, "But uh, you can just call me Frank, if you'd like, Mr.?"

"Oh! My manners!" the Rat-Kin exclaimed with a melodramatic sarcasm that wasn't entirely malicious, his goons chuckling as they looked on, "I am Romano. This there," he pointed to the woman who'd helped me without taking my hand, the woman grinning toothily and nodding as she was introduced, "Is Feta. My friend with the knives is Gouda, and of course, you've already met Blue."

The huge Rat-Kin grinned toothily; he didn't seem like the conversational type, probably the sort who had trouble with two syllable words at the very least. Turning back to Romano, I grinned and nodded as the Rat-Kin stepped further into the room to kneel where Connell had been.

"I trust this piece of inedible trash was trying to stop you from helping to complete Mr. Bensawa's final task in this world?" Romano's question was more of a statement, so I just nodded, causing the rat to smirk before spitting on the pile of ash, "This is good then. Mr. Asiago's debt is partially repaid."

Chuckling, the Rat-Kin motioned to his three minions. With silent nods Gouda hopped back out the hole where my window used to be, Blue started picking up the bodies of their fallen brethren, and Feta reached into her coat and handed me a small orange coffee thermos with the Three Moon's Magic Shop logo on it.

Romano cleared his throat, turning back to me as I gave the lady a smile, accepting the odd gift. "Okay, now then, Detective, this is the way its gonna be," Romano adjusted the lapels of his dark suit, his tail swishing impatiently, "That there is a little something I picked up from The Three Moons magical emporium. I thought you might need it later, but seein' as now IS later, I'd say you need it now. Next, you can go find your car at Santos's Garage in the mornin'. It'll be repaired for you free of charge. And thirdly," the rat motioned to the room with a wide sweep of his arm, "We assisted youse in taking out the trash. Now, from my perspective, that makes you and Mr. Asiago square. Capiche? Good. Now then, we're out'a here."

I stepped back out'a the way as the three remaining Rat-Kin filed past me, Feta giving me a look that made me feel mildly uncomfortable, but I smiled back and nodded anyway. I also didn't mention that in repaying their debt, the Rat-Kin were making it necessary to move into my office fulltime, but realistically, I had enough enemies in the City as it was, and it'd been too long a day to argue.

Riding down in the creaking, shaking rattling elevator, its bare flickering florescent bulb occasionally saving my eyes from some of the more creative graffiti on the walls, I shifted the backpack I'd stuffed full of the few items I kept at my apartment and slid the thermos out of my coat pocket.

Giving it a bit of a shake, I had to chuckle to myself, knowing by the syrupy sloshing sound from within that it'd take care of at least a few of the problems I'd been having the last few hours. I also found it amusing that someone else agreed with me that keeping healing potions in glass containers was outright foolish.

Cracking it open, I downed the silvery liquid, barely tasting it, the wonderful warm sensation it sent spreading through me makin' my toes curl as the first thing I noticed was the cramp in my spine straighten itself out, followed by my two missing teeth re-growing and the others straightening themselves out again. As the numbness where I'd been tazered faded, and my nose straightened itself out again and the elevator came to a shuddering halt, the doors opening with a loud, grinding creaking of metal on metal.

I wasn't surprised by the soft silvery glow from the otherwise dark lobby, but as I stepped out of the elevator a moment before its cable broke and it went crashing down into the basement with a cloud of dust and twisted metal fragments, I was surprised to see my client there, waiting for me.

"I'm sorry, Detective," Rachael said sadly, bowing her head and still wearing her disguise, "I know I should've been here earlier, but I'm afraid that my 'cousin's' minions delayed me on the way over here."

I glanced at the flaming long sword in her hand and nodded in understanding. "Yeah, seems he wanted to pay me a personal visit," I replied with a shrug and was pleased that it no longer hurt to do that, "but some friend of your friend Kareem came by and it wasn't a real big deal. Hopefully Connell's goons didn't ruff you up too much?"

The Grigori shook her head, waving her long-fingered hand dismissively. "A few dozen imps aren't of much concern," she assured me, momentarily considering taking a seat on one of the stained cushioned seats in the waiting area and deciding against it, "What I am concerned about, is that I understand that Kareem is dead. The Watch found the body a few hours ago along with some other interesting items they aren't talking about, I'm fearful that one of those items might have been the Scroll."

I rocked back on my feet for a moment, takin' a deep breath as I stared at the tiled floor thoughtfully, wondering what could be so important about that Scroll that it'd be an angel's main concern over the loss of a friend, and wonderin' if it was still worth bein' involved.

"Well, I know I didn't see any Scrolls lying around," I replied after a moment, looking up to meet the woman's intent gaze, "but I'm fairly sure I know what the Watch took out'a there." Reaching into my coat, I pulled out a small broken bit of black stone. "This here was part of somethin' important," I explained, the angel nodding slowly as she gazed at it with whatever extra senses you get for bein' a celestial, "And I'd wager it had somethin' ta do with the tentacle monster I found guardin' it."

"I have the feeling that you've a fairly good hypothesis as to what that object was, don't you?" there was somethin' in Rachael's tone I didn't like, but I nodded anyway, putting the fragment away.

"Yeah, but there's someone I wanna talk to first before I just go burstin' into the Mage Guild with a bunch a dangerous accusations," I explained, surreptitiously keepin' my hand under my coat, "I also have an inklin' about who might have the Scroll, but there are some waves I'm not interested in makin' just yet."

Rachael frowned, taking a few steps forward, allowing me to catch the scent of something familiar in the air, something that almost had a physical presence, something that made my head feel kinda heavy, my sense of reality blurring around the edges. "So, you believe that the Mages have the Scroll. Is that, detective?" her voice was lacking something. Something I couldn't put my finger on. It was just so hard to think.

I nodded numbly, there was something cool, reassuring against the palm of my hand as her fingers suddenly rested against my cheek. "You know, I've been thinking," the angel said softly, her fingers like silk against my stubbly skin, "Maybe it's better if it stays with them. Maybe they can protect it better than I can. After all, they have many more resources at their disposal than I do."

She was leaning in close now, and the cool feel of metal against my hand finally registering as my pistol. That tiny hole of logic in the cloud of pheromones expanded then, lettin' in a whole bunch of other facts. The first being that Rachael wanted the Scroll out of Shangrila, not for herself. The second bein' that now that she was up close, I could tell that she was shorter than me. Her extra height only due to a pair of stiletto heels. And the third was that Grigori generally tiptoed around humans these days. Touching them, especially trying to kiss them was a definite no-no, seein' as it was that sorta thing that got them into trouble in the first place back when we were all still clubin' each other on the head with sticks and grunting. Not that we still don't do that sorta thing now, it's just that now we're better dressed.

Pulling the pistol from my coat, I fell backwards to give myself a bit of room, thinkin' I could prolly take a little tumble if it meant getting out of this alive. As her expression changed to surprise and finally anger in the split, slow motion second it took me to draw the gun, lettin' me know my suspicions were right.

Even as I pulled back the suddenly heavy feeling trigger, gritting my teeth at the exertion as the pheromones still in my lungs sought to cloud my mind, the woman I thought was Rachael changed. Her wings morphing from ethereal white to ethereal black feathers, her halo going out like a light as curved horns grew in its place. Then, as the bullet left the pistol, a small cloud of smoke slowly exploding out in all directions before with equal slowness dissipating, leaving the round to spiral forwards up at an angle. I could see her face twist and contort in that moment, the wisp of hair hanging out from under her head scarf turning from midnight black to golden blond as she snarled at me with a mouth full of fangs.

"This is getting repetitive!" I muttered aloud as time sped up and I turned just before hitting the floor, using momentum to roll away as I heard the woman scream in painful anger.

Leaping to my feet, I caught a glimpse of the succubus clutching her left eye with both hands, blue/white light shining out from between her fingers as she turned her attention to me and I knew it was time to run. There were two rules about Lilim. One, they were a dime a dozen in Shangrila, and two, don't try fighting one if you're male. Chances are you'll loose.

Breaking into a dead run, I drew the second pistol and fired at the weak points in the Blue Fountain Apartments' lobby windows, the cheap glass cracking and shattering almost before I dove up and forward, my arms crossed over my face. With thousands of glass shards flying in all directions, I hit Gold Avenue South and ran as fast as I could in a random direction, dodging around the up way too late crowd of people who seemed intent on listening to a moogle rant and rave about his social life, or rather lack there of.

A block down, I caught another howling scream from the succubus as she burst out of the slum lord owned building, the demoness screaming and yelling and tripping over the couple who'd got bored of listening to the moogle's manifesto. Glancing back, I was pleased to see an angry werewolf arise two heads taller over the crowd and simply deck the running and screaming Lilim, the demoness immediately bursting into blue/white radiance. Waving and calling back my thanks to the lady that helped me, I soon made my way back to my office, the beat up old couch not seeming so bad for sleepin' on somehow.

Chapter 10

I'd woken that mornin' with a sore neck, which wasn't surprising as my couch is a bit shorter than I'd like, but at least Santos' Garage had left me a message on my machine that the repairs were going well and that I should have my car back in a few days. By the time I'd woken up, though, it was getting on eleven, and I had to jog down the street to meet Chouli's contact at the appointed time once I'd gotten myself mostly awake and ready for anything.

Chouli's note said to meet the guy I had to talk to at Club Inferno. It was prolly the most infamous club in town, as well as the most dangerous. All five descending levels that were actually open to the public got steadily worse as one went down. I mean sure, the top level known as Purgatory was just a little restaurant that rarely had any customers, seein' as Ecstasy Bistro was just down the street, but below that one actually had to sign a waver to enter. I myself hadn't ventured past the Pandemonium level, and that was the day they'd had to apparently close off the Abyss for "cleaning". And judging by the bloody footprints in the elevator, I'd have to say the Club's reputation for danger's fairly well earned.

Glancing at the card, I was pleased to note that I was to meet this Pucky guy down in Limbo, the second level being fairly dead most nights, let alone afternoons, and the Club's rules did state that it was comparatively safe in comparison to Hades down on level five.

The main entrance to Club Inferno, by comparison to the inside, didn't look like much, really; just a low black building with a flat roof and a single set of pewter doors with smokey glass windows at the top of a short flight of ebony steps. Even the sign above the doors wasn't overtly huge or particularly ominous, reading "Club Inferno" in a stylish font with the phrase "Embrace You Fantasies" in small script beneath it. Being that the club was mostly underground to keep with its theme, it made sense, I guess, and besides, it avoided Shangrila's World-Wall that a lot of the City's skyscrapers were basically wedged against. Nodding to the two bored looking men in tuxes who guarded the door I headed on in, signed their silly waver and took the elevator down a floor.

Lack of fire safety standards and staircases aside, Limbo wasn't the worst place in all of Shangrila to meet someone. Its dim lighting and soft eerie music did give it a certain looming sense of dread, and the Battle Of Heaven motif with the ornate centerpieces did give me another twinge of that "I'm getting in over my head again" feelin', but it was occasionally nice to have a chapter of my life have some kind of theme to it.

Making my way across the thick, dark burgundy carpet, I wound my way around the sparse and unsurprisingly vacant tables to one of the curtained off booths on the other side of the small open dance floor. Pulling aside the curtain, I saw what could only be the man known as Pucky Luxx.

Now, I don't mind sayin' that this Pucky guy was a real clown. But that's only because he was one. Big red nose, the floppy shoes, bright, electric blue hair, the tackiest orange and green suit I'd every seen, and a face covered in thick white grease paint. Although, to be fair, that was actually a bit unusual for the former Duke Of Luna, and I figured that it was prolly just the only disguise he had, seein' how as Luxx had apparently given up the clowin' around business when he was exiled from his home world where he'd been some kinda king.

"Glad you could make it, Detective," the once and future King of Clowns said quietly as I entered, his eyes shifting to the all but vacant restaurant nervously as he brought up a tall thin glass of some island drink, complete with three umbrellas and so many wedges of unidentifiable fruits that I wondered how it was possible to drink it.

I shrugged nonchalantly, decidin' to be polite and not laugh as Pucky's nose honked when he sipped his drink. "Well, seein' as I went through all the trouble of settin' up this meetin' I don't think it'd be right to skip it," I replied, a little surprised as a waiter in a three-piece suit pushed the curtain aside and set a drink down in front of me.

"I took the liberty," the ex-Duke replied with a dismissive wave of his gloved hand, making me idly wonder if his feet really were that big.

I smiled and gave my host a nod as I lifted up the fizzing, bubbling glass of electric blue liquid and took a swig of a moderately okay pan-  
galactic gargle-blaster. "Now, I think I'm getting a pretty clear picture of what's been goin' on here," I explained, setting down the drink and feeling a little more awake, "but I wanna hear your side of it."

The clown nodded, stirring his multi-layered orange, yellow, red and green beverage, his eyes focused on the patterns it made. "Okay, now you didn't hear this from me, but a friend of mine in the Mage Guild passed on some information to me that Chouli mentioned might be useful to you."

"So I gathered."

Pucky sighed and nodded slowly. "There's a relatively new apprentice at the Guild. His name's Iago. Apparently he's been having some dealings with the City's darker elements and he's been working on a project for them."

"So the Mages are doing something potentially dangerous," I said with a smirk, my words a statement more than a question, "So what else is new?"

Pucky shook his head quickly, raising a green-gloved finger with a bulbous fingertip. "No, no, Detective," he explained with a bit of a smirk and I half expected him to have jagged yellow teeth. Thankfully, though, Pucky didn't, "You misunderstand. Not the Mages, just Iago. Well, today anyway."

Things were getting interesting, but something wasn't making sense. "Now, hold on there, sir," I interrupted, shuffling to get more comfortable in the black leather and dark mahogany booth seat, leaning forward a bit as I took another sip of pan-galactic and waggled a finger at him, "There's just oooone thing botherin' me. If your friend in the Guild knows that Iago's doing somethin' fishy, why doesn't he just go to Duquesne and say, 'Hey! This guy's screwing around with dangerously freaky mayho!'?"

"She wants to know more about it. What he's doing, why he's doing it, etc," the clown explained, his exaggerated red painted smile upturning a bit more, "It's all about power, I'm afraid. Right now, she'd get a pat on the head, but if she were to unravel something truly bad, she'd get a promotion."

"So what makes your friend think there's something big goin' down?"

Pucky chuckled at the grin I couldn't suppress, but it was nice to know something he didn't. "What makes you think there isn't?" the former government official countered.

With a slow nod, I pulled out a twisted chunk of dark-metal and set it down on the table, all the while findin' it a might satisfying the way the man's eyes went wide. "By the Fishbone Crown." Pucky muttered, taking up the bit of magical mineral and turning it over, "This. I know this design. I've seen it on my world. Once, ages ago, in one of the Ancient's sites. There was more of this, was there not?"

I sighed heavily, leaning back in my seat with a wide grin. "Yeah, kinda," I replied nodding slowly, "But I was in a hurry at the time, seein' as people keep tryin'a kill me and all. But I think the Watch has the rest of this somewhere. It ain't what I think it is, is it?"

The clown's dark eyes caught mine, his tone deadly serious, so I smiled back at him. "A Portal, you mean?"

I nodded slowly. "That's my guess. Didn't work out so well, though. Looked a whole lot like it blew itself to bits."

Pucky signed and shrugged. "That'd explain a few things, I suppose. Although I'm not up with the arcane-physics behind it, I'd say there's a reason all trade in and out of Shangrila is done at the behest of High Priestess Celestina."

"Oh? How ya figure?" I inquired; eager to learn a bit more about the topic in case it ever became useful, but Pucky gave a dismissive wave, his fingers flopping about like they had no bones.

"As I said, I'd have to ask my friend. But I'd say there's a reason the Mages haven't challenged the Temple by making their own Portal," the clown replied, downing his drink in one go before taking out a watermelon wedge, "Besides the fact that it'd cause a massive power-  
struggle that'd destabilize our society and probably end with the Prince dying or something, I mean."

"For all he does," I smirked, chuckling, "I'm fairly sure that the good ole' Dues X that is Shangri-Physics would get in the way a might quick. But I guess it hasn't stopped Iago from trying."

Pucky shrugged. "That's how it looks," he replied, not bothering to spit out the seeds, "And if it is, there's going to be some serious repercussions within the Guild. I'll be sure to tell my friend to drop in on the Watch, but if I were you, I'd avoid this situation entirely. Especially Iago. If you two are seen together, you might get caught up in the middle of it."

I frowned a little, my tone becomin' uncharacteristically serious, but there were actually some things I took seriously. "I can't," I explained, "He has somethin'. Something I need as part of my actual investigation. Honestly, sir, I don't give a Nezumi's b'hind about the Mage's and the Temple's little feud. I don't think I much like either Guild's policies or politics, and I ain't no mercenary. I'll do my best to keep an open war from happening, and I won't tell anyone else about my suspicions, but I've got to find Iago."

"That's another problem," Pucky added, lifting a finger from a mango wedge he'd started to chew, "Iago's gone into hiding. No one's seen him for a few days since his meeting with that snake."

"A Naga?"

Pucky nodded.

"He and his Portal got that Naga killed from what I can tell," I told him, a hint of anger in my voice as my hindbrain jumped in on the real Rachael's behalf, "Upset quite a nice lady because of it as well. Plus, like I said, he's got something I need."

It took a moment for me to notice Pucky's eyes going wide. "She won't like that. Not at all." the clown was shaking his head with concern, staring at the mango wedge.

"Your friend?"

The clown nodded. "She's got a thing for the serpent people," he explained, glancing out into the still empty restaurant, the man frowning thoughtfully before turning back to me, "Look. Maybe I can help you with this. I'll have a talk with my friend; find out if she can find Iago. She won't be too pleased, but she won't make a move on him, I'm sure of it. Especially not if it screws up her chances of a promotion. Just um, don't hurt him too badly okay?"

I nodded in understanding as I glanced off to one side, trying not to roll my eyes at the power-mongering politicking that was going on behind the scenes. "Just tell me where he's hidin', and I'll be in and out'a there before he knows I was even there," I promised confidently, not overly surprised as Pucky smirked and tried not to laugh.

"Detective, from what I hear, you're about as subtle as a sledgehammer!" he let out the laugh then, but I just shrugged, giving him a dismissive wave of my own.

"Naw, that was a different cop show back in the early 80's," I replied with a grin, "I'm more like a certain late 80's movie cop, only lighter in the angst.!"

Chapter 11

According to Pucky, this Iago guy hadn't been seen in town for a while now, despite the fact that I was fairly certain we'd had a meeting not so long ago in Deadbeat Alley. The mage had instead been spending most of his time way up in the wilderness of the Northern Mountains hiding pretty much in plain sight at the Alot Ontop Resort. This, of course, meant that I wound up killing time waiting for my car to be repaired and for the Clown's Mage friend to come through for me. Santos' Garage was fast, sure, but there were limits, even when at least one mechanic frequently memorized the repair spell. I'm guessin' the 'M5 Drain was just too much for him.

Somehow managing to stay out of trouble for a few days after officially +Vacating my old apartment and spending a bit of time looking for a new one before hitting the Garage. In the end it was just after 8pm, with both of Shang's moons full in the sky when I at last found myself turning off the main road near the Portal and heading up into the Mountains. Fortunately, though, I wasn't especially superstitious.

The time I spent driving down the dark, narrow winding roads through mostly wilderness and past the occasional farmer's field gave me a bit of time to get used to what was pretty much a new car. Most of it was still there, the roof having been re-welded in place, the frame having to be magicked straight again, the engine still mostly intact needing only some creative fixing. But the rear end was completely new, and the neon blue of the trunk lid didn't match the powder blue of the rest of it. Which was fine, seeing as the driver's side door was a navy blue now, which didn't go so well with the light blue of the body, or the near indigo of the still a bit dented here and there hood. I was a little surprised that they hadn't replaced the upholstery entirely and had instead gone a bit overboard with a patch kit, but the seats were serviceable, and I was pleased to note that all the windows had been replaced with bulletproof glass.

Checking my more non-standard options, I was pleased to see that everything was back in mostly working order. The nitro jets refuelled and repaired, the parachute replaced and given a small upgrade so it could be drawn back in, as well as a host of other small gadgets I figured I'd need eventually. But mostly, I was just thankful that someone had had the idea of installing a decent four-wheel-drive option, seeing as not all the roads in Shangrila were actually meant to be driven down.

As I passed by the crashed star-ship, it's still functional shields glowing a calming lavender, the road turned to what was basically a donkey trail and I realized I'd taken a bit of a wrong turn. Gritting my teeth as my car jostled in every direction at once, the four-wheel-  
drive struggling as much as the new shocks, I struggled along for what seemed like forever as I was jostled around, hitting my head about four million times as the severely twisting road lead through some of the densest wilderness I'd ever seen.

The road eventually came out of the woods rather abruptly, though, and I had to make a hard left to skid to a halt before going over a steep drop off. The path ahead involving climbing down the cliff to what looked to be an endless expanse of tundra I didn't recall being there when I'd first showed up in the City. It wasn't surprising, though, seeing as the Prince's Royal Cartographers were always "finding" new land in Shangrila, the pocket realm growing as fast as its population.

But that wasn't such a huge concern for me, as off across the ice-sheet echoed a long mournful wolf howl. Turning my head slowly back towards the wilderness, I heard several others go up in the distance, some a bit closer than I'd of prefered. There were stories about the wilderness around Shangrila at night, and not all of those stories involved benevolent nature spirits showing lost travellers who were too thick headed to bring a map or install a decent GPS a good time.

Hitting the gas pedal as hard as I could and finishing the turn I'd made to stop, I felt my car drop and jostle as the new back tires dropped off the edge of the cliff. Gritting my teeth as the howls continued, not only getting closer, but sounding a little too happy, I winced at the sound of metal grinding against rock a moment before the front wheels pulled the back up onto solid ground and I all but flew off into the forest.

Turning hard to avoid sailing into the stand of redwoods, I did my best to stay along the two dirt trails with weeds growing between them that passed for a road in this area, knowing that somewhere along the way, I'd find the turn I'd missed. At least I hoped so.

I wasn't given much more time than that to plan ahead, though, as something sharp skidded along the left side of my car and I was surprised to see the small monitor spin open on my dashboard. Glancing at the display, it showed a 3D schematic of my car, and gave silent thanks to Mr. Asiago, half wondering just how much he'd owed Kareem to warrant the upgrade. As I swerved again, the road getting rougher than I remembered it being, with the weeds down the middle tangling themselves around my car's axels, I noticed the red flashing area on my virtual door, a small window popping up claiming that the are had taken a low velocity slashing impact, but that little damage had been sustained.

"Must've been a warning shot," I muttered, catching a glimpse of a handful of glowing red eyes in the new rear-view mirror as I punched in the first code that came to mind.

As a section of the back bumper slid away, several short exhaust ports slid out. A second later and a cloud of decidedly environmentally unfriendly tear-gas filled the air behind me. Unfortunately, from the waaay to happy howling, I could tell there were still a few ahead of me.

The tear-gas ports concealing themselves, I gritted my teeth as my front bumper impacted about a dozen times with a flood of small furry animals that'd been coherenced by some weird werewolf power or other. Turning on my windshield wipers, I accelerated down the short straight away, doing my best to ignore the crashing thuds of several hundred migrating sparrows, my attention focused on the twelve foot snarling lupine grinning at me from behind the protection of a rather large, ornate sword that glowed in the blinding light of my car's headlights.

My car jostling over a few extra mind-controlled fuzzy speed bumps, I floored the accelerator and leaned forward as I grabbed up my shotgun. That was thing about werewolves; they had a tendency towards predictability. And, sure enough, as I made a hard right as not to plough into the stand of trees right behind where he was, the lupine leapt into the air, intent on landing on whatever was left of the hood of my car and driving his magic phallic symbol through my windshield and skull.

Fortunately there's a world difference between overconfidence and self-  
confidence. About four points worth if you disregard the fact that one's a Merit and the other's a Flaw. Coming down from his overly dramatic leap into the air, swinging his sword and howling to make sure everyone looked at him when he did it, I sighed heavily and shook my head as one foot struck my fender, the other continuing onward.

Shangri-Physics was with me at that moment, as evidenced by the rather unpleasant cracking/snapping/popping sound that was barely overshadowed by the roar of the engine and the howls of pain as the werewolf shattered most of his leg and bent it off at an unpleasant angle as he went down hard. Trusting him to heal it all too quickly, though, I aimed the shotgun out the window and used the rear-view mirror to aim as I sped away. Throwing two solid slugs into his chest as he got up, I decided against stayin' around long enough to find out how long it took him to heal the additional damage.

Finding the turn off I missed, I used it immediately, the soft green glow of a rune carved into a nearby tree telling me what I'd already suspected. A temporary illusion'd been set up, forcing me to drive straight into the wrong Faction's territory where no doubt Connell expected me to meet my end, one way or another. Last I'd heard, one of the more intelligent dire wolves was trying to form some kind of alliance with other non-humanoids for whatever reason. My guess was that he was getting closer to his goal, and it was prolly best to check out the Resort while it was still safe to be a human in the Northern Mountains.

Taking a quick look back, I was half surprised to see that they weren't following me, but I decided not to question it, or my good luck as an hour later I drove into the all but deserted Alot Ontop Resort visitor's parking lot. The gravel crunching beneath my car's tires as the headlights cast across the closest grouping of cabins, momentarily illuminating a business woman taking her Gabriel hound for a walk. (Or was it the other way around?)

Parking my car in the shadows between two of the tall wooden lampposts that illuminated the lot, I checked to make sure I had everything before heading off down the gravel path between cabins. Letting the darkness fall around me, I did my best to ignore the strange noises behind me and the peculiar shadows backlit by several of the cabins' curtainless windows.

Checking my note pad in the dim light of Shangrila's smaller moon, the larger one obscured by ominous dark clouds, I checked the sign post as the path branched off. Luckily, the cabin I wanted was in the Cluster B, saving me from having to navigate the rather large outdoor party that was going on noisily over in Cluster F. Judging by the twenty foot bon-fire and the loud music that mostly drowned out the other sounds from the party, I somehow doubted I'd be able to sneak into Iago's cabin unnoticed, let alone get to the cabin without being dragged into the festivities were it closer. That was one of the problems with parties in the City of Dreams, they were rather infectious, somethin' in the air, I suppose.

Hurrying down the path, I gambled that Iago'd've noticed the party and with luck, gone to check it out. That was another thing about parties here, no matter how geeky you were; you are bound to find someone to pass the time with. And eternity's a long time when ya don't age anymore.

Eyeing the letter codes above each door, I was pleased to see more and more quiet, dark cabins, mostly vacant, but a few with their occupants busy elsewhere. Iago's didn't seem to be much of an exception. The simple white curtains in the front window were closed, hiding whatever mess the bachelor had in his kitchen, the chimney was smokeless, and the cabin was otherwise quiet.

The party down the road making enough noise to cover for my not-so-  
great stealth skills, I ducked down and scurried into the long shadows left by the moon and went over to the East face of Iago's cabin. The window onto the bathroom was locked unsurprisingly, but I was prepared for that. Taking a can of shaving cream out of my coat pocket, I sprayed down the windowpane to muffle the sound before putting on a pair of old gardening gloves and putting my fist through the glass in several places.

The dull, muffled thuds and cracking impacts of glass shards landing with splattering sounds in the tub were covered by the explosion down by the party, followed by hooting, hollering and laughing as a pair of egos no doubt classed. Picking out the rest of the glass, I did up my coat for extra protection and slipped inside after a few moments of crawling and squirming and nearly sliding and breaking my neck in the tub.

The louder thud I made when I landed didn't seem to raise an alarm, as near as I could tell, and as far as I was concerned; any landing you can walk away from is a good one. Struggling to my feet, I wiped off the glass and shaving cream before peering out around the shower curtain.

Sure enough, Iago had a stack of adult magazines sitting beside the toilet and the sink had enough hair clogging the drain that it was prolly only days away from heading down town to see about applying for citizenship. Waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I got out of the tub and opened the door just enough to peer into the main room.

Like most of the cabins at the A lot On Top Resort, it had that rustic theme to it. The floor being bare hardwood except for the dire-grizzly-  
bear rug by the fireplace, the chairs made of branches and logs, and the walls decorated with about a dozen or so animal heads varying from a lion to a jackalope. Everything seemed fairly normal to me, though, especially with the various pizza boxes strewn about the room in front of the flat screen 80" TV (also made it sticks apparently) were empty, as were the forty some odd two litre bottles of Diet Coke. It didn't look so much like a mage lived there, but I doubted somehow that Iago was the sort to be overly obvious about it in his safe house.

Slipping out the bathroom, I stepped over the pile of dirty undergarments and listened at the door to the bedroom. Again silence, except for the chanting over in Cluster F. My guess was that a bunch from the Academy had dropped by and were having another of their challenges, prolly involving hotdogs or something.

Ignoring the piles of dirty laundry, paperback novels and handful of half-finished Diet Coke bottles on the floor, I eyed the closet and the dresser; flipping a mental coin to figure out which one I'd go through first. Coming up with the coin on edge, I pulled open the closet door and ignored the poster of blue skinned, four-armed woman on the inside of the door while I rifled through the piles of shoeboxes Iago seemed to keep his ritual equipment in.

Tossing aside the Hand and Eye of Vecna, I opened a large steamer trunk and started going through the piles of silky ritual robes I found there, not yet noticing the dark, looming shape that came out around from the other side of the double bed. Mistakes happen, I guess, but as I cracked open the secret compartment at the bottom and tossed a Philosopher's stone over my shoulder, I distinctly heard a sharp, canine yelp.

Tensing, my other hand grasped something that felt like old, dry parchment. Listening carefully now, I could hear the low growl of something large and angry behind me; it's breath hot against the back of my neck. Slowly getting to my feet, I reached into my coat for a gun, only then noticing the eerie green glow in the room from what I suddenly had the feeling was the creature's mouth.

Standing up completely, I slowly turned around and met the glowing red eyes of the jet black, hairless seeming wolf-thing. It stood to just past my waste at the shoulder, and its hunched back held a row of long, sharp spines as it's glowing green saliva dripped down onto the floor. If I wasn't certain that it was a bargest at that moment, the next one proved it to me.

Throwing back its huge head, the beast let out a wailing, baleful howl. The sorta wailing, baleful howl that rattles your bones and does that ever-popular soul-chilling effect. Thankfully, I'd bought my willpower up another point a few days earlier and as my hindbrain desperately tried to be paralysed with fear, the rest of my brain drew my pistol and fired at the dark spot between its growing reds.

Hearing a yelp as the round flattened against the dog's thick skull, I cut and ran back into the living room before it had a chance to collect itself and give chase. Having bought only a moment, and knowing there was no way I could outrun the thing; I did the only thing I could. I headed for the fireplace.

Putting the Scroll in my coat pocket and holstering the pistol, I ducked under the mantel and pressed my hands and knees against the inner walls of the chimney before awkwardly climbing my way upward. Just as my feet left he ashen floor, I heard the bargest leap into the living room, snarling as it tore a chair in half out of frustration. Knowing it wouldn't take long for him to catch my scent, I shimmied higher, spitting out soot as I held my eyes closed and tried not to listen to the awful sniffing sounds below me as the dog moved about the room, my scent obscured by the stale odours in the room.

By the time I'd made it half-way, however, I heard a loud, triumphant barking snarl and a moment later, the bargest was wedging itself into the chimney as well, the dog jumping as it barked and snapped at me, rattling my nerves as I moved higher and higher, my muscles aching as I scraped and tore my coat in places and ensured that I'd need a serious shower at some point.

"I sooo don't paid enough for this crap!" I muttered, resisting the urge to try and kick the dog away, knowing that if I slipped, I was dead, "I really need to ask for a raise!"

Finally taking the hint that it couldn't get to me that way, though, the bargest howled again. Gritting my teeth, I held in place for a long moment, letting the wave of fear and nausea wash over me, straining to not let my muscles relax and drop down straight into the beast's mouth. After what felt like forever, I started climbing again, the dog's snarling and barking getting angrier and angrier as it echoed in the narrow, confinement in a way that Victorian author's would've described as maddening.

Fortunately, though, it was then that I felt cool air upon my face. Openin' my eyes I grinned as I came up out of the chimney. Struggling to move as fast as I could out onto the slanting roof, I took a moment to dust myself off and heard something that caused my to curse under my breath. Down below, the front door to Iago's cabin burst open, his pet bargest having bashed through it as it howled again, it's effect not quite as powerful as the beast caught its breath.

Quickly seein' that the ground was no place for me, and knowing that I really couldn't outrun it in my present state, I glanced over at the distant bonfire and grinned, the beginnings of a plan coming to mind almost immediately. Peering over the edge, I met the dog's gaze and grinned broadly as he snarled at me.

"Ready to go for a walk, Spot?" I inquired sarcastically, and without waiting for a response, I sprinted off down at an angle along the sloping roof as fast as I could.

As expected, the Bargest howled and gave chase just as I leaped off the edge of the roof and made a mental note to be thankful that Shangri-  
Physics hiccupped or something later because I barely felt the fear effect at all. My shoe catching the edge of the next roof, I leaned into it and tore off up the next incline, blood rushing in my ears as I did a quick scan of the area and decided on a the best short cut from Cluster B to Cluster F.

Not wasting any time, I let my momentum build along with my adrenaline, the dog chasing me, leaping up and snapping as I dove off the roof on the other side and landed on the high-friction roofing shingles of the next. Not stopping to think, I gritted my teeth as I made the summit and changed direction, running along the peak before leaping off the shorter distance to the cabin behind, momentarily confusing my pursuer.

Taking advantage of this, I ran down the other side of the roof and made a leap into one of the tall pine trees that each cabin has growing out front of it. As the trunk bent under my momentum and weight, it's needles stabbing mostly into my face, I shifted my weight just before it sprang back and let go, dropping the few feet onto the gravel road between the rows.

Not even sure which Cluster I was in, I sprinted off down the road again, the bargest coming around the corner just as I reached back with a pistol and fired three rounds at it. The first two rebounded off it's thick hide, but the third grazed its shoulder, causing it to trip ever so slightly as I crossed the street and hit the next Cluster, cursing my luck, but realizing why the Bargest's howl wasn't as effective. Iago'd had the dog cyber'd up, reducing it's Essence, reducing it's Dice Pool or some such thing. Luck flows both ways, I guess.

Scrambling up a conveniently placed ladder, I made the roof of another Cabin and ignored the searing pain in my legs as I ran up and over leaping the handful of feet between cabins yet again, not stopping to get my bearings until I reached the summit. Glancing around, ignoring the snarling and barking that was strangely ignored by the few people who weren't either away or at the party, I spotted the bonfire. It was closer now, and I could make out the two dozen or so mostly naked bodies either dancing around it or doing a handful of the other favoured pastimes the City of Dreams had to offer. It wouldn't be long now, but there were still a handful of gambits to get through.

Hurrying down the other side, I was pleased to find a long 2X4 reaching between two of the cabins as part of someone's attempt to install a satellite dish. Running across it as the bargest caught up again, I pushed my foot backward against the board the instant I hit solid roof, causing a pleasing dull thud and an equally pleasing sharp yelp as the board connected with the yapping bargest's head.

Deciding not to push my karma, I didn't pause to laugh, but kept running, up to the peak and then sideways onto the next cabin, my winding path seeming to go on forever as I once more leapt off a roof. This time, though, I tucked in my arms and legs as I landed with a loud splash into a full rain barrel. The bargest hitting the turn at a run, I held my breath and rocked the barrel to one side as hard as I could, and used the incline of the terrain as it tipped over to roll myself out onto the road.

Feeling diamond edged claws tear long, jagged holes in the barrel; water spraying out behind me, I rolled as fast as I could, the sounds of the party getting louder and louder. My momentum increasing, I clutched my stomach, refusing to slow down as the beast's teeth tore a hole in the water softened wood, giving me a split second glimpse of moonlight glinting off the bargest's now exposed metallic skull. Cursing, I readied a pistol and gripped it in both hands, gritting my teeth as my lunch made a reappearance a moment before the barrel became airborne as it hit the curb.

I only vaguely heard the sound of shattering glass as the barrel burst through someone or other's front window. What I was more aware of was it hitting the fireplace mantle and shattering into more pieces that I had time to count, fortunately throwing me onto the floor in a heap without splitting my skull open on the mantle.

Lying there on the floor in a puddle of water for what felt like an eternity, I closed my eyes tightly as the world continued to spin, the howling, snarling bargest somewhere behind me. I could hear it, but I couldn't do anything about it. I've always hated feeling helpless, but sometimes it happens and there ain't much you can do about it. Lifting my arms, I held the gun in the general direction of what I thought was prolly the window I'd come through and tried real hard to listen over the blaring, pounding music from the party for the sounds of growling, or scrambling claws.

My head still spinning, I heard a sharp impact and a yelp, wood splintering as the bargest missed the leap and crashed headfirst into the outside wall. Forcing an eye to half-open, I watched as the double image of a dark shape leaped up onto the sill, the awakened-rottweiler balancing perfectly for a long moment as it spotted me, the beast almost grinning as he saw the opportunity.

Closing my eye tightly, I waited, listening again. As I heard the scrambling of paws and the hungry snarl I squeezed the trigger a heartbeat before rolling away under the coffee table. There was another angry snarl and the bargest skidded across the floor, my shot tipping him off balance long enough for me to push the table upward. Standing, I held it in front of me, using it as a tower shield as I turned towards the sound.

Sure enough, a moment later and I felt the heavy impact of the dog crash into the table, forcing me to stagger back as his claws ripped through the thin wood. Catching my breath, I fired the remaining rounds blindly through the table, forcing him back for a moment as I continued backing up towards where I was fairly certain the front door was. As my butt hit something that didn't feel much like wooden logs nailed together to form a wall, the bargest jumped me again, the dog bashing us both through the front door and onto the front lawn, leaving me squished beneath it as the legs gave way.

The bargest clawing the table to ribbons with all four feet, I pushed as hard as a I could and rolled the beast off of me before getting to my feet and running blindly, the world still spinning a bit as I made for the bright light against my closed eyelids. Knowing this to be a deciding moment in what was left of my life, I sprinted again, using my last reserves of energy as the bargest all but ate the coffee table and I felt myself shoulder someone or other out of the way. Judging by the sound of the curse, I'd say it was female, but I didn't really have time for apologies right then.

Feeling the heat of the fire, I heard a handful of people commenting on my rude entrance a split second before my foot hit someone else and I went over headfirst. Rolling as best I could on the lawn, I managed to pull out my second pistol but couldn't seem to lift my arm. I just didn't have the energy.

Panting, I forced my eyes open and into focus, prepared to meet death with my eyes open. I grinned as I saw the bargest bearing down on me, my pistol more or less pointed in its direction. I'd go down fighting, at least one round ploughing into it at close range before he tore my throat out.

Fortunately, though, that was not to be. My eyes going wide, I had to laugh as I saw five women leap on the bounding canine, tackling him to the ground as he gave a helpless yelp, and I quietly thanked the effect Shangrila had on some people as I turned my gaze up towards the stars, the bargest incapacitated within microseconds, and no doubt not leaving until way past noon the next day.

"Hey, I guess I owe you another one," I chuckled to the Universe, barely reacting as I felt someone flop down on top of me. Lifting my head as best I could, I managed to smile at the grinning raver chick with bright electric-green hair. "Oh, sorry, was this your spot, ma'am?" I inquired as she handed me a Jolt Cola.

"Like, you'll sooo totally need this," she replied with a giggle as she tore open my soaked shirt, buttons flying in all directions, and I sighed heavily, lifting the can skyward.

"Huh, I guess I DO get paid enough for this crap!" I chuckled, cracking the can open as the dark clouds parted and both moons shined down upon us.

Chapter 12

I woke up about an hour after dawn and it took me a moment to remember why I was passed out on someone's front lawn, my dew covered trench coat being used as a blanket. Sitting up, I winced as some of my joints lodged formal protests about cold mornings, made only worse as I squinted at the pine tree and tried to figure out which of the clothes decorating it were mine. Then, in a sudden burst of realization, my hand went to my coat pocket.

I've never felt so happy to feel old, dry parchment beneath my fingers as I did in that moment. Just to be sure, I carefully pulled out the Scroll as I glanced about the lawn, noting that the fire had finally gone out, but was still smouldering. It was just as well, seeing as the other half dozen some odd people around me were still passed out from over-drinking and over exertion the night before.

As I suspected, the Scroll wasn't in any language I understood, but what surprised me was that the flowing, wavy Arabic didn't take up the whole page. It was more alike a paragraph, or as my hindbrain was quick to remind me, a piece of a much larger puzzle. Either way, though, my next priority was finding Rachael; the real one, this time.

Eventually gaining regaining enough willpower to stand up, it took me a while to figure out which clothes were mine. Who'd've thought boxers with killer bunnies on them would be so popular? By the time I was dressed again and heading down the road the others had started to wake up, but I decided it was prolly best not to ask what'd happened to the bargest. He was nowhere in sight now and I wasn't in the mood to argue. At least not until I'd had the chance to go to Shangbucks for a cup of halfway decent coffee and maybe something that's first ingredient was sugar.

By midmorning I was back in my office, sitting behind my desk with my feet up, sipping coffee as I read the on-line version of the Herald. Smirking as I noted the article regarding the party I was at being "a smashing success" I wasn't surprised to hear someone knock at the door. Downing the rest of my coffee, I tossed the paper aside and got my feet off the desk and tried to look halfway busy.

"Enter and be welcome!" I called, giving the door a sidelong glance as my left hand reached under the desk for the pistol I left duct-taped there just-in-case.

The door swung open and the odd grey ennui that stalks the offices of private investigators in the City of Dreams took its fifteen-minute break. Rachael was radiant as always, and I realized that's what'd been missing with her impostor. There's just some things you just can't fake, I guess.

Grinning, I stood up and manoeuvred a chair back around for her to sit in, the woman looking a bit more pale than I remembered, her expression seeming rather stricken as Rachael distractedly glanced out the window and sat down without looking.

"I read in the paper this morning that he's dead," the angel said without giving me a chance to get out a hello, and I sighed heavily, letting my good humour evaporate for the moment as I solemnly nodded, "The Watch found him in Dead Beat Alley." Rachael stated half-vacantly, bowing her head and shaking it slowly, "But you already know that, don't you?"

I nodded. "All I can say is that I'm sorry," I replied, sliding my hand nearer across the desk without thinking, "it looked like the show was over long before I got there, but I have a serious lead on what happened and who's responsible-"

Rachael shook her head, her shades sliding down her nose to reveal eyes so intensely blue that it took me about four months to be able to see that colour properly again. "I'm responsible, Detective," her words seemed to cause the air to get heavier, giving me the chance to finally pry my eyes loose as she closed hers and bowed her head again, "I should never have asked him to do this for me."

"If it helps, I don't think the mage he went to meant for Kareem to die," I offered, tensing as the woman took my hand, her skin so soft as she squeezed I almost forgot how to speak. Fortunately, though, Rachael had a habit of interrupting.

"No. I thought he could handle it, that he could use his wit to escape this realm without anyone taking notice. I was wrong, and now he's dead."

I glanced out the window then, the tall woman's tears sparkling and glowing strangely. "I don't know if this helps, but. I have the Scroll, eh." I felt Rachael tense as the knot my stomach had become tightened and I got a sudden bad feeling about this.

"You, you didn't read it, did you?" she asked, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled out of the ether and shook my head in response.

"My Arabic's lousy," I replied, turning back to her with what I hoped was a reassuring smile, "If you need it back, I-"

"No, no!" Rachael assured me quickly, shaking her head and lifting her free hand to stop me from digging it out again, "It's better that I don't come in close contact with it. It's. Too dangerous. I'm not sure what'd happen."

I raised an eyebrow and Rachael gave me a small, reassuring smile of her own. "Not to you, Detective," the angel assured, "It's a complex matter, but suffice it to say that the Scroll you have is only part of a much larger text that's been divided up for various reasons. I'm certain that you're aware of what happens when you read the wrong spell aloud?"

I nodded. Everyone remembers the night the City nearly vanished. Everything enveloped in an impenetrable dark, intangible silence as though someone had pulled the plug on the world itself. There were some rumours about a mysterious figure named after some South American country fixing everything a few moments later, but to my knowledge, the rumours were unsubstantiated.

"Well, this is only part of one," explained the angel, obviously distracted as she glanced over at the wall just as one of the earth elementals next door punched the wall in frustration again. His blitz-  
ball team obviously loosing again as they always did, "I'd hate to think of the consequences of it being read aloud here."

Nodding again I pulled out an old empty paper towel roll out of my recycle bin and slid the Scroll inside. Not quite fancy, but still better than letting it get crumpled any worse than it already was. "So, I guess you'll be needin' someone to get this here thing out'a Dodge then?" I inquired, meeting Rachael's gaze as the woman turned towards me, startled by my question bordering on a statement.

"Yes, I suppose I would." she replied cautiously, I could tell she didn't want to volunteer anyone, least of all me, and what with the expression on her face, I couldn't help but grin and chuckle a bit.

"Good!" I announced, bounding to my feet and grabbing up my coat from off the back of my chair, "You have a world in mind? A time? A place?"

Rachael shook her head slowly, her dark blue eyes going wide for a moment. "N, no, not in particular," she stammered, trying to explain as I accessed a few files on my computer, "The Scroll will go where it needs to. That's part of the magic, but right now it's trapped here in Shangrila. It can't escape."

"Sounds simple enough," I commented distractedly, scanning the news headlines and community events page for a few things, "But would the person holding it actually have to go through with it?"

I glanced up as the woman shook her head slowly. "No." she replied carefully, "I suppose that you could just toss it through, as it were, but as I've mentioned, there is a certain need for digression in this matter." Rachael's tone had that certain sense of seriousness that almost makes me cringe a little. Kinda like how a fire elemental must feel around spitting contest.

Sighing heavily, I glanced out the window for a moment, trying to find just the right words. "You don't mean Connell, do you?" I asked, ignoring the splintering wood sound as Rachael's manicured nails drug deep furrows into my desk at the mention of the name.

"Oh dear! I- I'm sorry! I-" came Rachael's apology a moment later, but I just chuckled and gave a dismissive wave.

"No worries, ma'am," I assured her, turning back to the woman with a reassuring smile, "It's seen worse. But I think maybe it's time we talked about what's goin' on here. Just what spell is on this Scroll, exactly? And why is it that your 'cousin' is so willin' ta go so far out of his way to make sure it doesn't leave this place."

Rachael sighed heavily, the angel slumping in her chair a bit, her glowing halo tilting forward. "As you probably already know, Detective, my choir is Grigori," she began as I got up to get us some coffee from the ancient dispenser I'd gotten on sale from Diverse Devices, "I'm also sure that you're aware of our history. How we were sent to the then handful of worlds with sentient beings to quietly watch over them. We were the only ones that truly understood the diverse races under our care, from humans to membari to rirhait."

I nodded as I handed the angel a cup of coffee. "As I recall, the story goes that you didn't just understand us all," I added, taking a seat before taking a sip of the steaming black sludge, "you loved us. Just a wee bit too much."

The woman nodded, her expression a combination of sorrow and embarrassment, her cheeks flarin' ever so slightly, but I don't believe there was any regret in that expression. "That's very true," the angel agreed, nodding slowly as she waited for the beverage to cool, "And that's the reason why my choir was banished. Cast out of Heaven without going as far as to Fall."

We both gave simultaneous shudders, knowing what actual Fallen Grigori were like, both of us thankful they were rarer than hen's teeth and usually burned themselves out rather quickly when they did crop up. "Well, to be honest with you, Detective," she continued, holding the mug in both hands and staring down into her rippling reflection, "Some of us weren't just banished from Heaven. Some of us were banished from Earth as well."

"I hate to ask why, but."

Rachael lifted her hand and smiled. "No, no, it wasn't anything worse than our sin of loving mortals too much," she explained, calming my sudden apprehension, "It's simply that some of us were. Well, higher ranking that others, shall we say."

I blinked, staring at the woman for a long moment, as she seemed almost embarrassed, knowing full well what was going on in my head. The Grigori, after all, understand us better than we understand ourselves. "Yer an Arch Angel, aren't you?" I inquired carefully, taking a small sip of molten mocha as the angel nodded.

"I was. Although I suppose I still am, the Arch Angel of Inspiration," she confessed hesitantly, that heartbreaking sadness returning to her voice, "Patron of Bards and Artists and all Creative Thinkers. Unfortunately, though, due to my Word it was decided by the Council that I couldn't just be allowed to run and hide with the rest of my people. There was concern that my influence would lead to other problems. That I'd lead a rebellion or something equally ridiculous!"

Again I shuddered. There'd been enough of that kinda thing for my liking. "So you were sent here then? To Shangrila?" I inferred, tryin' to make sense of things.

Rachael chuckled lightly and shook her head as she wiped away a single tear. "No, not exactly," she explained, "I came here of my own volition. When Dr. Sorbonne created this world, he altered Limbo slightly, making something in nothing. Infact, it's the only place I can 'be' right now besides Limbo, and for all its faults, Shangrila is better than Nothing. At least until the spell is cast and my Heart is freed from its encumberie."

"And that's what the Scroll is for. Or should I say, Scrolls?"

"Scrolls," she agreed with a slow nod, "seven of them. Scattered throughout the multiverse. In order to be free, I need them to make their way back to the original, the first Prime Material Plane, to the alternate Earth that I was once assigned to."

I frowned thoughtfully for a moment and asked, "So, how'd this Scroll get here then? Is it that whole, temporal continuity thing not meaning much to your people thing?"

The angel smiled again, and I don't mind sayin' that it warmed my heart to not see her quite so sad. I guess the Grigori really were a lot like us. It even helps them to talk about there problems. "No, no, it's not that," Rachael explained, frowning a bit as she sipped her coffee, "That's where Connell comes into this, I'm afraid."

We both paused a moment to collect our thoughts at the mention of the Impudite, and make a mental note not to say his name a third time. "You see, he felt that too many of the Scrolls had already made their way back to Core Earth," the Grigori continued, "there was a real danger that I'd be freed. Although I suppose I should feel flattered that both sides in the conflict are as concerned about that."

We both chuckled at this and Rachael continued. "So anyway, he managed to intercept one of the Scrolls on its way in to that Reality, and quickly dragged it into Shangrila without realizing that I was here. I guess he thought that with all the selfishness and greed in the City of Dreams that no one would be willing to help get the Scroll out again."

"And I guess he was wrong," I added with a reassurin' smile, "But I have to tell ya, ma'am. He knows you're here. One of the Lilim tried to get the Scroll off of me already and he's spared no expense tryin' ta stop me from gettin' my hands on it."

Rachael sighed heavily, her oh so soft hand touching mine again and causing me to need a moment to collect my thoughts. "I'm so sorry for dragging you into this-" she began, but I interrupted her with a smile, shaking my head and chuckling softly.

"No, no, it's like a karma thing with me," I assured her, "I already let one important lady down, and I'm not about to let down a second. If I can save you, ma'am, maybe I can make up for my past mistake."

"Look, about that." the angel began, hesitatin' as I glanced at the monitor and turned its screen towards her.

"Now, maybe it's just your influence, but I have an idea for getting this here Scroll out of town real easy-like," Rachael sighed heavily and nodded, abandoning for the moment whatever thought had come to mind as she glanced at the current/upcoming events page of the Shangrila Herald, "Ya see, tomorrow's The Breaking of the Sealed Times Ritual. That means High Priestess Celestina'll be sealing the Portal for a few minutes, and then reopenin' it. The way I figure it, I can just toss it through while everyone's distracted. At least, that's my theory."

Rachael glanced into her coffee again and I knew what she was going to say before she said it. "They'll be distracted because someone's going to die, you know."

I examined the monitor again, silence fillin' the room. I'd almost forgotten that part of the Ritual. It was the reason I really didn't like the whole Temple of Oblivion thing. I wasn't much for exsanguination at the best of times, but it just didn't seem right to me that an entire world's economy relied on it once a year.

"I know," I said quietly, unwilling to look at her, my stomach tying itself into a knot as I realized that my plan hinged on the death of an innocent, "But it's really the best I can do. I mean, the people'll be divided between those who like that sorta thing, so'll be staring at it, and those who are offended and'll be turned away. It's not pretty, I know, and maybe it's not the best thing in the world for my karma, but. But at least something good'll come of this. Well, besides the City continuing to exist in relative harmony."

Rachael nodded slowly. "Life isn't always black and white," she said softly, "This I know all too well. Just try to tread lightly within the shades of grey, Detective. It's all that I ask."

I nodded and turned the monitor back towards me, clicking on the Sealed Times article before calling up a map of the parade route. "You can count on it, ma'am," I assured her, a few more ideas coming to mind and making me smile as I wondered if Rachael's Word based powers worked on their own or needed invokin'. Either way, it didn't matter. I had until around eleven o'clock at night tomorrow to figure things out, make a few more plans, and to get anything else I'd need together.

As far as I was concerned, that was plenty of time. After all, I wasn't much of one for plannin' ahead.

Chapter 13

At the best of times Xanadu Square is busy, over crowded, chaotic and nerve wracking as dozens of people often have to yell to be heard over the noise of street vendors, the occasional screaming and the general cacophony of forty or more people all talking at once. At 11pm on the night of the Breaking of the Sealed Times Ritual, it's ten times worse. The crowds tend to spill out onto the surrounding streets, stopping through traffic and giving the City Watch just that many more incidences of petty theft, vandalism, and the occasional murder to simply ignore. Well, unless it happened to a high-ranking city official, interfered with Shangrila's lucrative slave trade, or they'd been sufficiently bribed by the victim to do something about it.

The whole parade route up from the Temple of Oblivion in the south to the Portal at the edge of the Chasm to the north was decorated with colourful lights and religious paraphernalia. The crowds that lined the sidewalks were dressed or undressed depending on their preference, in a wide variety of things that counted as ritual gear at the Temple, from colourful robes to tight leather that hid next to nothing. There was music everywhere, from classical to the ever annoying "scream-rock" that usually blared in the 4th level of Club Inferno, and everywhere people were dancing in the streets or having other, somehow less spontaneous physical reactions to the festive air about the City of Dreams.

With the hour approaching, and the Oblivites already on their way up the main street, Xanadu was the perfect place to get lost in. The street vendors and buskers were out in full force, making a killing no-  
doubt, and the circle of benches around the stylized statue of Dr. Sorbonne seemed to have been placed under its yearly curse. Basically, everyone and their dog had told their friends to meet them there. Thus, it was the perfect place to lay low, watch the crowd for anyone I thought I should avoid, and to wait for the parade to come my way.

By half-past, the four different kinds of music blaring from various sources had quieted, and the twelve separate conversations going on around the bench I was standing near had mostly devolved into an argument as those involved got confused as to who was talking to who. But as the sounds of prayer wheels and chanting filled the night, and both of Shangrila's moons shined full down onto the Square, things actually quieted somewhat as a small gong was rung down the street.

Being one of the few not to turn my head towards the on-coming procession, I stood a little taller and quickly scanned the crowd, momentarily amazed at the sheer number of extras they'd managed to call in for the event when suddenly I spotted a stout, bespectacled man carrying a two-leter bottle of Diet Coke. At first I felt slightly amused, my eyes catching a glimpse of the two men in dark suits and darker shades coming up behind him, the two MiBs simply phasing through the crowd as not to cause a stir. But then, as Iago's gaze met mine, a shiver ran down my spine, the portly mage's expression going from worried to hopeful as he bolted towards me a heartbeat before a blue gloved hand was about to land on his shoulder.

Shoving people out of the way with telekinesis and a few threats, Iago made a winding path towards me as I cursed and used every last point of my crowd manoeuvre skill to put as much distance between us as possible. The idea of interfering in Mage Guild business didn't sit well with me. After all, the last thing I needed was for them to cut off my cable and Internet access.

Moving as quickly as I could we both did two circuits of the Square before people started making way for the procession from the Temple. Lead by a group of various cult members ranging from low-ranking cultists to high-ranking clerics was a huge palanquin supported by eight bald, burly and naked slaves, each of a different gender.

The platform itself was covered in expensive and colourful silks and flowers from a million different worlds as incense burners filled the air with scents that varied depending on your species and or sensory capacity. Standing amidst the flowers, holy relics and curiously shimmering air were what were probably the two most important people in Shangrila next to the seldom seen Prince Alexandre. Europa the Archbishop, and Celestina the High Priestess of the Temple of Oblivion.

Quickly averting my gaze from the statuesque woman's void-filled and scarily compelling eyes as she stood, arms wide apart, the wind flowing through her gauzy white robes and long silken hair as she spoke in the Temple tongue, I made for the north end of the Square where the crowds were thickest at that moment, knowing the procession would pause long enough for some kind of speech before moving on.

Loosing Iago in the crowd for a precious moment, I crouched down a bit and apologized to the large blob of sentient orange goo that propositioned me before turning my head back towards the Oblivites, the palanquin halting near the statue. As the crowds fell silent and the Temple's Prelate rang a small, hand-held gong with a bone wand wrapped in pale leather, the High Priestess stopped her prayers and took a deep breath, causing a significant portion of the crowd to stare at her bosom.

As a stream of archaic syllables escaped her thin, pale lips, the thin woman's almost inhuman voice whispering, yet filling the Square as though she were standing beside each of us, whispering in our ears, I caught sight of someone else I didn't want to see that evening. Connell.

Decked out in his favourite brilliant red Armani suit with a black shirt and blood red tie, the Impudite turned my way almost immediately and grinned ingratiatingly as always; his pale blue eyes glowing a deep red, his threat needing no words to be conveyed.

Lookin' behind me, I caught sight of a disturbance, the muffled curses quieted by the presence of Celestina as Iago caught my gaze again; the man this time waving frantically at me, his expression stricken as the two MiB's scanned the Square for him. Suddenly regretting my decision to stand behind a pack of gnomes, I ducked down and took a winding path back to the statue of Dr. Sorbonne.

Taking cover in the crowd I momentarily forgot about Connell and shot a glance towards the palanquin as Europa stepped forward and began translating the High Priestess' words into Dreamspeak, the amethyst star pendant about her neck glinting in the light of passing gargoyle's glowing amber eyes.

"And lo, we the people of the City of Dreams were stricken by the closing of the Sacred Portal," the woman began, her expression solemn despite the way the Archbishop's eyes met those of several non-human's in the crowd, her less than modest white silken outfit shifting slightly to reveal more of her pleasantly formed cleavage, "The supply of slaves dwindled, and Gold Mines stopped producing entirely."

A squawk broke my momentary reverie, the sound of Europa's voice having a hypnotic effect on most of us. Glancing upward at the statue, I spotted a large black raven sitting on the end of the wand the Doctor held (although a lot of people claim it's a sword and most simply don't care). Narrowing my eyes as the bird glanced around nervously before giving me an imploring look, I half considered just shooting the Polymorphed Iago and making everyone's life easier. But not really being in the mood for an alignment shift, I turned and quickly wedged myself between a klingon and a Tommy-knocker loosing the rest of Europa's story as I ducked behind one of the hotdog vendor's carts.

"Make me one with everything," I whispered to the large, potbellied orc that passed for a hotdog vendor as I glanced around again, once more catching sight of the MiB's, one of them talking one of the lizard folk as the other scanned the crowd with some kind of eye-piece device.

"Here you be!" the orcish vendor said at last, his huge fist handing me my hotdog, having made me one with everything, "That be two commons."

I handed him a mark and tried to ignore the stains I just then noticed on his apron. Some of them appeared to be moving. Unfortunately so were the MiB's. Straight towards me infact. To make matters worse, I also spotted Connell in the crowd again, the man grinning at me in that used car salesman way as our eyes met in a not-so-magic-moment. He was nodding slowly, as the two MiB's moved towards me and knew that I knew that he knew that he'd tipped them off.

Glancing at the vendor, I did my best to keep it friendly, especially since I used to be Canadian and all. "Say, chummer, where's my change?" I asked.

The orc grinned toothily as he folded his hugely muscled arms across his barrel chest. "Change come from within!"

I'd have argued, but right then I had Agents Smith & Westin coming my way, both MiB's reaching into their coats as they simply phased through the crowd towards me. Turning right around, though, I cursed under my breath as I ploughed straight into Iago, nearly dropping my hotdog.

"Ya gotta help me!" the mage screamed way too frickin' loudly as he grabbed my coat lapels and started trying to shake me, Iago's whole body doing a disturbing ripply effect that nearly made me loose my appetite, "They- They're after me!"

Squirming my arms between his, it took nearly no effort at all to push the podgy mage's arms apart and pry his hands loose. "You tried to kill me!" I hissed between gritted teeth, trying not to cause too much of a commotion, "Right after you killed Ms. Rachael's lover, ya hozer!"

Sure, I was inferring a thing or two, but I was in too much of a hurry to think my words through as Iago's eyes went wide behind his thick, black-rimmed glasses. "But- But aren't you supposed to be some kinda hero!" he stammered desperately, doing next to nothing to keep his voice down.

"Sure, but you're a villain," I replied with a shrug, taking a bite of my hotdog and causing some tall skinny adolescent male to cringe in horror before falling over unconscious as he held his groin, "Now, if you don't mind, I've got a lot to do today."

Shouldering past Iago, the mage stammered for a moment before turning and grabbing the hem of my coat. "Wait! Aren't hero's ALWAYS supposed to save the villains at the end, no matter how evil and terrible they are just because it's the right thing to do!"

Glancing over my shoulder, I smirked as I spoke with my mouth full. "Hey, this ain't the last Ep of Dino-Riders," I reminded Iago, "so just take off, eh! I've got work ta do!"

I'll admit that it wasn't easy to run off into the crowd just then. Partly because of there being a crowd in the way, but also because I didn't like just leaving someone behind like that. Iago did have a point, but on the other hand, he'd dug his own grave on this one. Unfortunately, though, as the Oblivite's procession started moving northward towards the Portal, I found Connell standing in my path, the Impudite still grinning as our game of cat-girl & rat-kin came to a sudden conclusion.

"Ah, ah, ah! Not so fast, Detective!" the man in the red suit said quickly, his enjoyment radiating off of him in waves as Connell raised his hand and snapped his fingers before I could get out an appropriate one-liner.

There was a sudden flash of light, a momentary billowing of black, sulphuric smoke and a quiet startled sound from the extras in the crowd. Then standing around us were Iago, the two MiB's and a handful of people in various types of mage-gear. The Guild wasn't big on having a standard uniform apparently, but they were equally less fond of being teleported spontaneously into the middle of Xanadu Square.

On impulse, I pointed a finger at Connell, and at the top of my lungs yelled, "Hey! There he is!" before turning tail and running as fast as I could up the street.

Now, as much as Bluff ain't a Class-Skill for Fighters, I was pleased to hear Connell's startled scream as Shangri-Physics tried its level best to decide whether he was taking 10D6, 14/S/3, 12-45, 8K5, Rolling On Column 12 For Amazing Damage or just plain old 30 as every combat spell I could name lit up the night sky behind me.

Without looking back, I sprinted up the hill toward the ritzier part of town, hoping both that Connell'd stay down longer this time and that Iago would either loose track of me or just take the hint. Keeping to the crowded sidewalks, I wove my way northwards, the sounds from the Square loosing their panicked tone as the Oblivites no doubt continued their journey. It was hard to cause a lasting disturbance in the Square after all.

Reaching the fancy gazebo thing they kept the Portal in way ahead of schedule, I cursed under my breath as I noticed the number of guards surrounding the raised platform with it's ebony pillars and domed roof, the glowing blue light of the Portal Itself housed within. There were only two. Hardly a challenge at all.

It seemed, though, that the other Temple guards were busy shooing away spectators from a much more vulnerable target. Dressed in loose-  
fitting, and not especially concealing white robes was a young man. His wrists bound behind him with what looked like a holly vine, his eyes glazed over as his smiled dreamily from the small portable stone dais he awaited his fate upon. As various onlookers either laughed and jeered or tried to reach out and touch the soon-to-be sacrifice others stood on their feet or their knees, their bodies shaking as they went into one of those infamous divine trance-things. The guards, meanwhile, did a fair job at pushing them away when the needed to, not even bothering to draw their weapons as most of the crowd seemed to be cultists and acolytes who weren't part of the main party and wanted to be as close to the religious experience as possible.

Looking at the dazed/drugged looking kid I just shook my head, my stomach feeling queasy as I tried to think of a better plan than the one I had. As the sounds of the procession came closer, an idea came to me and I gave silent thanks to Rachael as I took out my cell-phone and dialled 69 directory assistance. Getting the number I wanted, I saved the three pewter charge and dialled it myself. The phone rang twice before it was picked up, my gaze cast towards the downward slope of the street, the words of the High Priestess echoing up towards me.

"Three Moons Magic Shop, how can I help you?"

"Yeah, uh, I was just wonder. Do you guy's deliver.?"

Running back down the street towards the North Gate, the Oblivites still standing about, enraptured by Celestina's incomprehensible words, I pulled out my cell-phone as it rang. "Please pause for site to site transport of material object weighing no more than eight-hundred grams. Magic rating 2.43, accumulated air-displacement 0.03," came the automated message, another innovation of the Mage Guild. Skidding to a stop, I held out my left hand. With a small flash of light, a glass vile of silvery liquid appeared in it and I cursed as I tucked the vial away. I knew I should've specified a metal container, but there was work to be done.

Ducking low I ran into the crowd and did my best not to break anyone's trance as Europa started her translation. Doing my best not to listen, I made my way to the edge of the crowd and relied on the thick shadows and distraction caused by the Archbishop as I chose my target. A tall Cultist in concealing and rather simple black robes, his gaze fixed on his superior as her words echoed down the wide streets.

Taking a last quick look at the other spectators, I took a chance and scurried forward, my right arm grabbing the man around the waist as my left caught his throat before I shuffled back as quickly as I could, the Cultist barely struggling as his gaze remained transfixed.

"Heh, he owes me money," I said with a shrug to the woman who glanced at me disapprovingly, the others around her either typical Citizens and not caring overly much about the Cultist's plight, or too enraptured by Europa.

Either way, I dragged the man into the shadows of the high wall around Dominion Hills Park before giving him a firm rap on the back of the head. Setting him down carefully, I took the man's robes and was only half-surprised to notice the extra set of arms he had, the lower pair of hands each clutching daggers smeared with glistening poison.

"Huh," I chuckled, noticing Celestina's and Europa's names on the blades as I slid the robes over my trench coat and lifted the hood, "I wonder if that counts as my good deed for the day?"

Glancing back at the palanquin, I noticed that Europa's speech was winding down. Closing the robes I got into position and waited, staring up at her with a silly grin before taking up the incomprehensible chant of the other Oblivites, the procession moving northward to the Portal at last.

Shangrila's two moons were at their zeniths as we reached the Portal; it's dim blue light glowing like the sun as Celestina's eerie eyes fell upon it. All around us spectators, guards and still more Oblivites swarmed about, the festive atmosphere calming as Celestina spoke, her words like a hand reaching out towards the Portal, the magical doorway flicking in reaction, the two almost seeming to be part of the same entity, and I suppose they were; an entity known only as Oblivion.

Shuddering, I hid my eyes beneath my hood as I pretended to stare enraptured up at the High Priestess, but in reality I held my eyes closed and recited every limerick I think of, desperately trying to not be entranced by the woman, determined to do both what I had to do and what I should do. They say you can't have your cake and eat it to, but I was determined to prove 'them' wrong.

After an eternity, Europa began to speak, the woman's words no less powerful as Celestina rose into the air, her slender body glittering with silvery light as she floated upwards before coming forward and descending from the palanquin. Noticing three other Cultists moving to her side, I followed suit, taking the chance and pleased when no one tried to stop me.

"And when Dr. Laurent Sorbonne left through the sacred Portal, it sealed behind him, leaving his people in a paradise without luxury!" came Europa's translation, and I felt a tingle run up my spine as Celestina sang a single note at the Portal.

In a flash, its radiant blue light vanished from sight, causing a communal gasp to rise up from the crowd, their fear a tangible thing as the only way in or out of the City of Dreams vanished, leaving us all trapped once again. Standing a little taller, I couldn't help but shake a little, the wailing of some of the Oblivites ringing in my ears as a single tear rolled down Celestina's cheek, the moment holding for another seeming eternity.

"But as others were willing to wallow in their sorrows, a precious few sought to decipher the sacred runes, to reawaken the Portal, to bring prosperity to the Realm once more," Europa's voice cut through the heavy dread in the air like a knife. Rather like the one Celestina pulled from nowhere just then, its silvery blade seemingly made of moonlight itself, "However, it wasn't until the then Enslaved Celestina, her heart aching for release, came forward, her need to be free of Shangrila giving her the insight, the answer. The Salvation of all Shangrila!"

I gritted my teeth, cringing even as I threw my arms into the air with the other Cultists, the four of us calling out, "Blessed be Celestina!" more or less at once.

The High Priestess moving forward, the guards around the sacrifice stepped reverently away, those of us in black robes following, surrounding her on all sides as Celestina stopped before the young man and he smiled up at her as the woman smiled down at him.

"Celestina's desire to leave the City of Dreams was so great, that what she read in the runes was no great sacrifice," the Archbishop continued, Celestina's small, pale, cold hand reaching down, taking the young man's chin, lifting his head higher, exposing his neck as the High Priestess brought the moonlight blade close to his throat.

Once more we threw our arms into the air, "Blessed be Celestina!" My heart was heavy. Like a stone. My stomach was in knots. I hated the waiting. I hated just watching. But as always, I knew timing was everything.

"Only the blood of a willing slave would reopen the Portal. Only her sacrifice would break the ancient seals but in place by Sorbonne! And so, without hesitation, Celestina sacrificed herself to the Portal!"

As Europa and all the other Oblivites save Celestina threw their arms into the air, their heads tossed back as they called out the woman's name, the High Priestess slit the poor slave's throat. Refusing to close my eyes, refusing to turn away in-case my plan failed, I accepted all responsibility for whatever would happen next and did my best not to throw up. The lad's body shaking as he quickly bled out, Celestina drew back as it became the cultist's job to take hold of his limbs.

Hefting the sacrifice onto his back, my hand gripping his arm perhaps a bit too tightly as the mystical, one-way barrier around the Portal shut down, I helped carry him to the top. His blood sublimating as it hit the ground, the air tingling with forbidden magics, I silently prayed that the article I'd read on line was right about the specifics of the ritual. If it wasn't this year's sacrifice would be dead in a matter of moments.

Laying him down upon the sacred circle, we all got on our knees; our arms raised high to the domed ceiling as the High Priestess chanted again in Oblivion's tongue, the floor saturating with blood, my heart filling with guilt and uncertainty I knew I had to get through. But as a small, electric blue flicker of light appeared above the dying body, hope flared within me, and I glanced down at the soon to be free (one way or another) slave.

Smiling hopefully, I reached into my robes and into my coat before pulling out the healing potion and the Scroll. As I leaned in closer, the glowing orb of the Portal began to grow, Celestina's words echoing in my mind as I pushed my hands through what felt like molasses. The hair on the back of my neck suddenly rising, I glanced up just then. Just in time to see the Cultist directly across from me pull down his hood. Somehow, I wasn't surprised to see Connell grinning back at me. I might have burst out laughing if I didn't catch one of the other Cultists pull down his hood. Cel surprise. It was Iago.

"This is a freakin' joke, right!" I managed, dropping the Scroll onto the slave's chest before struggling with the corked bottle.

"Hardly, Detective," growled Connell through gritted teeth, his eyes burning red as Iago glanced around nervously and spotted the crowd of Mages in the crowd, this time lead by the Grand Magus himself, "Now, normally, I couldn't care less whether or not this slave dies. But my superiors don't want this Scroll to leave. If it goes, you can't imagine the torment's I'll endure. However," and here the Impudite's smile became one of genuine amused pleasure, "if I can keep the Scroll from leaving, AND let this boy die, that's double win for me. I'll get my own Word, the title of Prince, and I'll have the pleasure of watching you hate yourself for all eternity! Knowing that every year you live past the normal human extent means the extinguishing yet another innocent life, starting with this one!"

Before I could respond, Iago grabbed my arm, nearly causing me to drop the healing potion as he tugged at me. "Um! Guys! A- A little help here!" he cried as the Mages started walking slowly up the ebony marble steps, all of them dressed to the nines like a pack of LARP'ers walking into a predetermined combat scene, Duquesne rolling up his sleeves, his hands glowed an eerie green as he lead the way.

Sighing heavily, I shook my head, my hands still struggling with the cork, the slave still bleeding out, the Mages still coming up the steps. "Look, uh, that's all fine and dandy and all," I replied, gritting me teeth a bit and suddenly remembering that Donna was so much better at getting things open than I was, "but I just have one question. If we three're all fake Cultists, then who's he?"

Nodding towards the fourth man in black robes, all three of us turned towards the silent figure. A heartbeat later, and a heavy sigh issued forth from within the darkened hood and an overly large pale hand extended from one of the sleeves. My eyes widened as in the hand I spotted a universal remote. Before I could react, however, the figure's thick thumb hit the "Pause" button, and Reality itself came to a screeching halt. Well, all of Reality except for myself and the robed guy.

Getting to his feet, the dark robed figure brushed himself off before throwing back the hood to reveal a slightly geeky-looking man in his mid-twenties who didn't look a thing like Fidel Castro. Opening the robes and letting them fall around his feet, I sighed heavily as I saw the grey sweatshirt he was wearing, the word, "+STAFF" emblazoned across it in bold black letters. Attached to the shirt was a small nametag that read, "Hi! My name is Sloth-Baby!" Glancing lower on impulse, I noted that his bare feet beneath the old denim jeans he wore didn't actually have three toes. Strangely, I was surprised.

With a heavy sigh, Sloth shook his head at me, his expression disapproving, but I was used to that from my old boss back home and occasionally from Donna's father. "Frank, Frank, Frank." the man muttered, walking a slow circle around the little scene I'd managed to cause, the others standing still, frozen in time like wax figurines, "You know, you're really getting to be a bit much, you know that?"

Smirking I chuckled as I continued to yank at the cork. "Really? Why's that?" I replied without a great deal of innocence, but I had to try, "Personally, I'm surprised ya even noticed me!"

Sloth stopped in front of Duquesne, the +Staffer pulling a cigar out of the Grand Magus' suit jacket pocket before walking over to Connell and lighting it on the flames from the demon's eyes. "Oh? Let's see here!" the man replied as he puffed at the stogie, orange smoke filling the air around him, "The first week you got here you flew halfway across the City, Detective." Snapping his free fingers, Sloth produced a pile of papers all stapled together and quickly flipped through them, the man's tone taking on a more condescending edge than I'd've preferred, "Now, right here, on page fourteen of your character sheet, under 'Powers', there's nothin' about you havin' the power to fly, Frank."

I shrugged. "Hey, I was curious," I replied, the cork half-way out of the bottle now, "And besides, it's not like I can do it again, you guy's disabled the +Fly Command and deleted all the Sky Rooms. The World Wall, remember?"

The +Staffer frowned, nodding slowly as he flipped through some more pages. "Yeah, okay, but what about this here on page nine," he continued, waggling the cigar at me, "You didn't fill in any of the information regarding your 'manhood'. What's with that?"

I shrugged again, grinning through gritted teeth as the cork came out a little further, my hand twisting it a touch widdershins. "I didn't think it was all that important," I grunted, straining against the vacuum, "It's not like I'm a TS character or something! Yeeesh!"

Sloth nodded slowly in understanding, flipping all the way back to an extra page attached with a paperclip. "Okay, but what about this, Frank!" the man said with quite a bit of triumph, his index finger waggling in the air, "It says here that in the last three years that you've been playing here, that you've broken the fourth wall no less than nine-hundred and fourteen times! What about that, eh!"

I grinned up at +Staffer as the cork came free, my hand dumping the healing potion into the Slave's wound. "Um, ain't that what we're doin' right here, right now, Slothy?" I inquired, the thick silvery liquid not yet doing its work, but it was hardly a concern as I drew a pistol with my free hand and fired two rounds at Connell, the bullets hanging in the air, millimetres from the Impudite's eyes as they left my Reality Bubble.

Sloth meanwhile, nearly coughed up a lung as he tossed the cigar and fumbled with the remote. "Oh crud! You're right!" the +Staffer exclaimed, the remote nearly flying out of his hands as I then quickly moved to handcuff Iago's hands behind his back and stuff a bit of his robe into his mouth.

"Say hi to Patience for me!" I called just as Sloth hit the "Play" button, and Reality started again.

Just before I turned to run, I caught sight of Connell's split second look of surprise before he was sent screaming back home in a brilliant burst of white light, as well as the equally surprised look on Iago's face as he found himself bound and gagged before his boss.

"That'll teach ya to set yourselves +Victim!" I called out, leaping from the stone gazebo/altar just as the Portal expanded fully, taking the now healed slave and Rachael's Scroll to the Prime Material Plane. I, however, kept runnin', deciding it might not be such a good idea to stick around for the aftermath.

Chapter 14

Sitting in my office with my feet up, I gave Rachael the permission she didn't really need to come in just out of habit. Grinning up at the woman, I'd have to say that her smile was radiant. So radiant, infact that the old, half-dead, dusty plant I had sitting in the corner came back to life almost instantly, and half of Shangrila experienced a momentary lunar eclipse.

"Thank you, Detective," the angel said softly, leaning down to place a soft kiss upon my stubbly cheek that nearly made me melt as my hind-  
brain hit ctrl-alt-delete so I could think again, "I'm one step closer now. There's just a few more to go on other worlds."

Recovering, I took a long swig of coffee and raised an eyebrow at the small, dark green velvet sack she placed carefully on my desk, its contents clinking softly together. "Well, I, uh, I was just doin' my job, ma'am," I replied with a grin, tipping an imaginary hat to her, "It's what I do 'round here. Try and make this realm a better place."

Rachael nodded slowly in understanding, the Grigori's expression becoming suddenly confused as she ran up against the enigma of human existence for the first time in several millennia. "Just, just one question, Detective," the angel said carefully, wetting her lips as she tried to puzzle it through one last time, "Why is it that you didn't stay on the platform? Why didn't you go through the Portal when you had the chance?"

Sighing heavily, I glanced out the window, frowning as I spotted a Yithian down on the street groping inappropriately at a passing schoolgirl. "Simple," I replied, pulling out a pistol and blowing the time-traveler's head off its neck stock before turning back to the Angel, "It's like I said. There's still more good to be done her in the City of Dreams. I don't think it's time for me to leave just yet."

The angel giggled softly. "Careful, Detective, you're starting to sound like a hero."

"Bah!" I laughed, giving her a dismissive wave, "I get paid for this! Heroes don't make any money, have racist bosses who hate their alternate identities and get annoying, lame, dumb and especially reoccurring, villains. I think I'll stay as a private eye, that way I still get dental coverage."

Laughing softly, Rachael stood taller, her ethereal wings spreading out to either side. "Very well, until we meet again, Detective!" as she faded out, the angel's sweet, musical laughter made me hope there would be a next time.

Looking back on it all now, though, it wasn't the strangest thing that happened to me in Shangrila over all. Frankly, it didn't even come close to the time Megan, Magen, Maegen, and Meghen wanted me to find their sister Magan, or even the time when I met a parallel universe version of myself who believed that Commissioner Gordon was Batman.

THE END

Copyright Nikolai Mirovich, January 31, 2005


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